


take the pieces, build them skywards

by anaesthetist



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaesthetist/pseuds/anaesthetist
Summary: All the anger and injustice bubbles up inside of him again at the thought, rising like bile in the back of his throat as he shoves his forehead into the back of Luke’s neck, squinting his eyes shut against his hair. He pulls Luke closer to his chest, thinking he’ll be safe there, but it might already be too late.“Cal,” Luke says quietly. “Calum.”A warmth spreads through Calum at the sound of his name, soft and steady from Luke’s mouth. He shifts his arm, tightening the hold he’s now got on the front of Luke’s t-shirt as he feels Luke’s fingers stroke down the back of his hand.(or, during the recording process of their new album, Luke grows his hair out and Calum realises a couple of things.)





	1. as low as you feel right now

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a thing. it gets a little heavy, but nothing major. enjoy!
> 
> inspired by machines by biffy clyro (under one of the videos on youtube it's filled with comments about calum and luke bringing people there lmao what were the chances)

“I think I should go talk to him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Calum sees Michael’s arm come up across Ashton’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

The three of them stand there, lingering and watching Luke out in the garden past the distorted reflections of themselves staring back at them. Though it’s dark outside, the lights in the garden illuminate the white of Luke’s t-shirt, setting him aglow among the bushes and flowers and Calum can make out the shape of his torso almost perfectly.

“He’ll think there’s something wrong if you go,” Michael says, making Ashton frown in confusion and mild offence.

“I’ll go,” Calum says, shoving a hand down into the pocket of his shorts, checking for his cigarettes and lighter. “Need a smoke, anyway,” he adds, closing the space between himself and the door, laying a hand down gently on the handle. He looks back at the other two, staring back at him with beady eyes. “It’ll be fine.”

Calum’s not entirely sure what constitutes as fine under the circumstances, and he doesn’t give himself time to think about it before pushing open the door and stepping out into the garden. When he shuts it behind him again, Michael slinks off back to the couch, but Ashton stays a moment longer, giving him the slightest of nods before too retreating in the same direction.

They’re renting a house in Malibu for a weekend. No one explicitly says so for the sake of his ego, but the trip is for Luke. Ashton sells it as some sort of bonding exercise over the phone to him, insisting that they should spend some time together outside of the studio, not as bandmates, but as best friends. Just the four of them—and Petunia, of course, Ashton agrees, sending him a thumbs-up across the table. In hindsight, it is a perfectly plausible reason to get away, and Calum can’t say he’s not had a good time since he got here.

It’s not cold, but it’s colder than it is inside, so his body reacts accordingly. Calum shivers.

Luke is sitting just a little way down the path, his body hunched forward over his knees. In front of him, scavenging around in the bushes, is Petunia, the cone around her neck somewhat obstructing her exploration.

Calum pads down the path, hands tucked into the front pockets of his hoodie.

“She doesn’t want to go in yet,” Luke says when Calum stops beside him.

“’M not here to drag you in by the hair,” Calum mutters as he sits on the same stone slab as Luke, bumping his shoulder on the way down. “Must be exciting, like, being in a new place and shit,” he says, fishing out his cigarettes and lighter.

Luke doesn’t say anything—instead, he hums, pulling his legs up a little closer to his chest and resting his chin in the valley between his knees. Calum can’t see his eyes, but he imagines them fully fixed on Petunia, watching her every move until she bobs out of view, causing him to tense up like an anxious parent. His unease subsides when she ambles back, bored with that section of the garden and moving on to another.

Calum lights up a cigarette.

“I’ve been thinking about getting one,” he announces with a small billow of smoke, gesturing towards Petunia.

This, at the very least, perks Luke’s interest. “A dog? Really?” Luke says quick, his voice hitching up with excitement. He lifts his head and turns to Calum. The excitement hasn’t quite reached his tired, bleary eyes. “Aw, dude, your dog and Petunia could be like dog pals— _dals_.”

Calum pulls his cigarette away from his mouth to scoff. _Dals_ must be Luke’s worst one yet.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he says, laughter cutting through his voice. “ _Dals_ ,” he repeats, quiet, tilting his head to watch Petunia sniff at a flowerbed off to their left. When he looks back at Luke, he looks pleasantly pleased with himself, and this time his smile does reach his eyes.

A breeze blows through the garden then, catching under Luke’s t-shirt and making it ripple. It’s only then, as he sits there shivering, that Calum notices he’s just wearing flipflops. He wiggles his toes in them and Calum can’t think of anything better to do than shift a little closer to Luke, throwing an arm over his shoulder and pulling him in tight. Luke’s body sags against his, head nestling into the folds of his hoodie.

Resting on the very curve of Luke’s shoulder, Calum’s fingers play with the end of Luke’s sleeve. He’s almost entirely turned himself into Calum, pressing so deep to his chest like he might want to hide away there for a little while, cushioned in the space between his lungs. Calum’s not all that startled when he realises the ease with which he would let Luke to exactly that, no questions asked.

He grips onto his sleeve a little tighter.

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

“Fucking dope, man.” When Luke speaks, his breath is warm on Calum’s chest, even through two layers of clothing. Calum hums around his cigarette, distracted by the thought. “Dogs are way better than people, anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Calum says, moving his hand from Luke’s shoulder to the top of his head, giving his hair a quick ruffle. “I think you’re pretty cool.” Luke complains low in his throat, but Calum knows he secretly loves it. “Bit annoying, but pretty cool.”

Luke’s hair is long, untamed. Calum’s fingers rake about halfway down before they get caught up in a tangle, forcing them back up to his scalp, not wanting to hurt him. They stay like this until Calum’s cigarette burns down, and even then, he only slides his hand down the curve of Luke’s skull, fitting his hand snug around the back of his neck. Like this, he gives Luke a little comforting shake, telling him something words just might not do.

“Do you want to head back in?” Calum asks.

“’M not that tired,” Luke answers. “You go back in. I’m fine out here.”

Calum shift around, thinking about it. Luke pulls back from him slightly as though giving him permission to leave, encouraging him away with big blue eyes. Calum’s never really been one to pry into Luke’s life when he doesn’t want him to, instead taking a step back, being there when he needs him, when he’s ready. That’s the way things are supposed to be, anyway, but things got a little hazy for a while there, and Calum feels like he’s missing out on something sometimes, a smudged space on the timeline of their friendship. Sometimes he feels he wasn’t there when Luke came looking for him.

“Are you sure?”

Luke gives him a little smile. For all its subtleness, it’s genuine. “I’m sure, Cal.”

Calum doesn’t argue with him. Steadying himself with a hand on Luke’s shoulder, he pushes himself up, groaning at a quiet click in his knees. When he looks down, Luke is looking up, head tilted so far back Calum can see the line of his throat. Calum gives Luke’s hair one last ruffle.

Walking slowly back up the path, Calum’s surprised to not find Ashton or Michael waiting by the door, the both of them clearly lounging lazily in the living-room, their attention on the television screen. Just as he’s about to push the door open, Calum glances back at Luke, finding his former position, briefly vacated, now filled by Petunia. Luke is leaning down, cheek resting on her back, thumb rubbing along her front leg.

Calum smiles and goes inside.

*

Calum doesn’t hear Luke come back inside that night, but the next morning he looks reasonably well-rested and even a little livelier than the previous day. He’s complaining about Michael being lazy when Calum walks into the kitchen, yawning, a hand scratching through his own curls. Michael’s in the living-room, the tell-tale sounds of explosions from a videogame providing a backdrop to his request of extra jam on his toast. Between the chaos, Ashton sits at the table, laughing at them both over his coffee.

They don’t do much in the morning, but later they go out for lunch. Ashton and Michael steal the booth seats, leaving Calum and Luke to balance themselves on the stools across from them, sitting so close together that Calum finds himself constantly knocking his elbow against Luke’s. Luke is a child, so he complains, huffing and rubbing at where it doesn’t really hurt until Michael kicks him slyly, starting a rather violent game under the table. Before they eat, Calum asks a waitress to take a picture of them, and they bunch together in the booth, smiling up at the camera. Calum saves the picture to post on Instagram later, ever so often opening his phone to look at the picture while they eat, smiling down at the faces that smile back at him.

It's Ashton’s idea to go to the beach afterwards, insisting that they can’t come to Malibu and not go to the beach. Michael insists that they _can_ come to Malibu and not go to the beach, but he shuts up about it when Ashton insists he’ll ditch his plans of cooking tonight in favour of ordering something in. Calum’s half convinced Michael’s still harbouring some resentment as he jogs forward and gradually nudges Ashton closer to the edge of the water.

Calum falls into line with Luke easily, trudging through the sand as though it were mud. He’s got his hair tied up today, saving himself from the uncomfortable whip of hair against his cheeks when the wind rolls in from the ocean. Calum scratches at the exposed skin through the side of his tank top as he walks, sinking and tripping in the soft white sand, distracted by the way Luke keeps staring at the ground. It’s like the life’s been drained from out of him somewhere between the restaurant and the beach or something.

“Hey, get on,” Calum says, taking a step in front of Luke and forcing him to stop walking. When Luke doesn’t do anything, Calum turns around. “Come on, before I change my mind,” he says, crouching slightly and readying his hands to support Luke’s thighs.

“Really?” Luke says, surprised. Calum nods. “Yes!”

Despite preparing himself, Calum still finds himself stumbling a few steps towards the sea when Luke jumps onto his back. He steadies himself, hitching Luke further up his back as he links his arms across the front of his chest.

Walking slow, the distance between themselves and the other two grows, both of them oblivious. Calum doesn’t mind, pausing every so often to adjust his hands where they hold Luke’s thighs, accidentally pushing his shorts up his legs a little, exposing more milky white skin than before.

“Is this alright?” Luke asks.

“I’d drop you if it wasn’t.”

Luke laughs in his ear, high-pitched and choked, reaching a diminuendo just as Ashton looks back to ask what’s so funny. He cuts a weird figure in front of them, dressed all in black, wearing jeans on the beach. Calum does his best to shrug, but it’s hard with Luke clinging to him over his shoulders. Ashton seems to get it and turns back around just for Michael to ask why he never gives him piggybacks anywhere anymore.

Calum feels Luke’s body twisting against his back. “There’s only one set of footprints in the sand,” Luke says with a childish wonderment, as though he might’ve looked back and expected to find something different.

“Funny that.”

Luke grumps, pinching Calum where his hands rest. “You know what I mean,” he says, adjusting his arms around Calum’s neck, holding on a little tighter. “Hey, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?”

Calum’s been a little busy to marvel at the beauty of his surroundings, but he supposes Luke is right. Turning his head, he looks out at where the sky meets the sea in the distance, the blue of both almost identical. It’s almost as nice as back home. An uneasy longing swells up in Calum’s chest at the thought, the remnants of a long-quashed homesickness burning dimly.

“We should come here again,” he says. “It’s nice to get away from LA for a little bit.”

When Luke nods in agreement, Calum feels it against the back of his head. He perseveres along the beach for a short time longer, listening to Luke talk about Petunia, about how, as soon as Calum gets his own dog, he needs to tell Luke. Calum agrees with a grunt, his hands beginning to get a little damp with sweat against the backs of Luke’s thigh, making it harder to keep him from slipping.

He lets Luke down, leaving him to stagger around on wobbly legs. He touches his back with a grimace, more for show than anything else, earning himself a shove from Luke. He laughs as he takes off his hat, wiping the sweat away from his brow before putting it back on again, backwards this time. Luke shoves him again as they walk up towards the promenade, sending him falling forward but still on his feet, laughing all the way until he catches up to Michael and Ashton.

Later, over a slice of pizza, Calum posts the picture of them at lunch, of his best buds.

“Fucking sap,” Michael says, hooking an arm around Calum’s neck. “Love you, too, buddy.”

*

“Why the fuck are you wearing sunglasses inside?” Calum asks.

Luke’s got his feet up on the table, knees bent and phone in his hand. “Because I’m cool and you’re lame,” he says, which is such a _Luke_ answer that Calum feels caught off-guard. Slouched in his chair, he watches Luke take his sunglasses off, revealing red, tired eyes. It’s the good kind, though; out all night, sleeping in late eyes. “What’re you looking at?”

“An asshole,” Calum quips back.

“You’ve wounded me, Hood,” Luke says, unfazed, putting his sunglasses back on.

On the couch, he almost mirrors Calum’s posture, slouching so far down that Calum can see the creases in his neck as his chin grazes his chest. They’ve been sitting around doing nothing for ages now, waiting for Andrew to turn up. Ashton’s here too, somewhere, fucking around with some demos in the other room.

They’ve had some time off from the studio for the past week, and today’s the first day Calum’s seen Luke since he packed up his stuff and drove home from Malibu. He’s not really in the mood to do anything except muck around, his mind too unfocused to do any proper writing. Thankfully Luke doesn’t seem too bothered about doing nothing, his own spritely mood just about cutting through the thick mist of his hangover, but not making him anymore productive than Calum.

“When can we go for lunch?” Luke asks.

“How can you be hungry?”

Luke groans, stretching out his body. “I’m not,” he says, arms going up into the air before he tucks one behind his head. The position shows off the swell of his bicep. He smushes his cheek against it. “Just wondering, jeez.”

Calum returns his attention back to his phone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep a careful eye on Luke as he begins to fiddle with his own phone. Judging by the faces he’s pulling into the camera, he’s posting pictures to his Instagram story. He gives it five minutes before Luke’s telling him to join in, make a funny face or something else not worth the effort. In the end he gets nothing more than a call of his name to prepare, looking up from where he’s curled over his phone and staring wide-eyed at the camera. He doesn’t do anything, but Luke seems satisfied with the result.

He doesn’t see the boomerang until they’re standing by a vending machine somewhere in the studio, trying to buy a bottle of water. Calum doesn’t want anything, but Luke asked him to come with him, and he’s a hard boy to say no to.

He opens up Luke’s story and frowns.

“You hate yourself?” he asks.

“Just sometimes,” Luke says. It sort of sounds like a joke. It sort of doesn’t. “Not as much as I hate you.”

“You love me,” Calum says.

Luke pauses in his assault of the vending machine. “I know,” he says, smiling. Calum’s mouth twitches from the effort not to smile back, but it’s no use when Luke lets out a victorious cry, a bottle of water falling into the tray with a thunk.

Somewhere between this morning and now, Luke has lost his sunglasses and tied up his hair. Calum watches him fiddle with the cap of his water, leaning heavy against the vending machine. He’s fidgeting, he notices.

“What’s up?”

Luke pulls a face; the one where his nose scrunches, eyes crinkle and teeth grind together in a grimace. Calum tenses at the sight of it, regretting even asking.

“Do you—do you think I’d look cool with hair like Andrew?” Luke asks quietly, and Calum has to stop himself from bursting out laughing at the intense, steady way Luke is looking him in the eye. “Well, do you?”

Calum lets out a short burst of laughter, eyes creasing from the force of it. He can’t help it. Luke’s not been jealous of something like this since Michael had a better fringe than him when he was thirteen—that, and when he would get pouty when they worked out on tour, flexing his arm muscles and muttering about how it was unfair that Calum had built up more than him. He doesn’t complain when he gets piggybacks now, though.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” he asks. “Grow your hair out if you fucking want to, Luke. I think you look stupid either way.”

Luke huffs as he falls back against the vending machine.

Calum pushes up the sleeves of his denim shirt, leaning over and bracing a hand by Luke’s head. “Come on,” he says, “Andrew’s going to think we’ve snuck off for lunch.”

Luke looks off to the side, then back at Calum, reaching up and fisting a handful of his hair. It’s much thicker than his own, much curlier. “I like yours like this,” he says for no reason, then drops his hand and pushes himself back up in the direction of the door. Calum follows, rubbing his scalp where it hurts.

The next few hours pass without incident and with slightly more productivity. Calum finds himself having some genuine fun as he jams on an acoustic guitar beside Luke, who plucks away with an electric one. Andrew calls them idiots on more than one occasion, bewildered as their latest song idea descends into chaos with Luke pulling out the rockstar moves in the relatively small space between the mixing board and row of amps. Calum encourages him until he’s almost on the floor, head thrown back and clapping, chest jumping with every hiccup of laughter.

“Did you get much done?” Ashton asks Calum on the car ride home.

They didn’t, and Calum thinks Ashton knows it having seen him lingering around for a little while, but he nods anyway. He doesn’t really care, a quiet enjoyment continuing to fizz around in his bones. “Yeah, got some good stuff written,” he says, averting his gaze away from Ashton to the rear-view mirror.

“Whatever you say,” Ashton’s says with a small, breathless laugh, propping his elbow up on the window.

*

“You’re gonna laugh,” Calum tells Luke.

“You’re not,” Ashton says.

“I did!”

“Shut up, Michael,” Calum groans.

They four of them are sat around a table, taking a break in the warm air and cool shade. Calum can feel a dampness clinging to his skin, the divide between shade and sunlight cutting across his face, leaving him in the direct mercy of the sun. His hand slides over his phone, slick with perspiration, photos of his new puppy still displayed on screen. He looks at Luke looking down at his phone, besotted by the little dog as much as the other two, and laughs nervously again.

“It’s Luke,” he says.

“Luke?”

“Isn’t it brilliant?” Michael says, wistful, all his Christmases and birthdays coming at once. “He bought a dog named _Luke_.”

Luke doesn’t seem to find it particularly brilliant nor funny—in fact, behind his sunglasses, he doesn’t seem very anything. He’s still looking down at where Calum’s phone sits in his hand, the screen now dark. Calum wants him to say something, anything, just to make sure he hasn’t taken it entirely the wrong way.

He hasn’t.

“’s a good name,” he says. “Bit of a people name, though, isn’t it?”

“People name,” Ashton parrots, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. I’m heading back in.”

Ashton gets up, pushing back his chair and stretching. Calum thinks about getting up too, legs twitching to spring up and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he watches Luke duck down to catch the straw of his drink with his teeth, sucking up the rest of his juice with an obnoxiously loud slurp that twists Calum’s stomach a little. When he lifts his head back up, he tucks the hair that’s fallen into his face behind his ears.

“So when can I meet him?” he asks.

Later that day turns out to be the answer. Luke shows up at his apartment just after dinner time, almost by-passing him entirely to get to the puppy. By the time Calum’s followed him into the living-room, Luke’s on his stomach, fingers curled up to scratch underneath the dog’s chin. Calum steps over the both of them carefully and sits back down on the couch.

“I’m changing his name,” Calum says. Luke doesn’t look up, preoccupied. “The only thing is, he’s learnt that name, so it might be, like, unfair and shit to change it. Unless I change it to something similar.”

“What’s wrong with Luke?” Luke asks.

Luke’s still lying on his front, pushed up onto his elbows. He’s changed from before, wearing shorts and a t-shirt with his hair tied back like’s he’s going to the gym or something. He’s not been going that much anymore, either bored with it, too lazy to continue or lacking any proper motivation to keep going. It might be a bit of all three.

“I can’t have a dog called Luke! No offence or anything.”

Luke grunts, rolling over onto his back, taking up a ridiculous amount of space. He just stays there for a moment, finger steepled over his chest and staring up at the ceiling, not making a sound. Calum arches an eyebrow up at him, leaning forward where he sits to try and get his attention.

“None taken,” he says, shifting his eyes to Calum’s face. He moves again then, flipping over onto his side to face his fluffy namesake. “He’s the cutest thing ever,” Luke says, then twists his head back to look at Calum. “Besides Petunia, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Calum agrees, if only to keep Luke happy.

If the number of games of FIFA Calum manages to get through is any indication, Luke hangs around for another half an hour, caught between petting Luke and watching Calum play, offering up some much unwanted advice as he smacks his controller against his thigh. Luke laughs where he lounges, sitting up now, head resting back on the couch by Calum’s knee, occasionally rolling it to the side, muttering how shit he is against the exposed skin there.

“You’re distracting me,” Calum complains. There’s some truth in it. “Fuck off.”

“I better be fucking off,” Luke says, tilting his head down at his phone as he checks the time. “Gotta date.”

“Poor girl.”

“Fuck you,” Luke says, shoving Calum’s knee, knocking it into the other. “Wish me luck?”

“Don’t need it, mate,” Calum says, slapping Luke on the back as he pushes himself up from the floor with a quiet click of bones. He stretches out, t-shirt lifting, and scratches at the exposed skin of his stomach before shaking out his shoulder. “Just behave.”

“Always do,” Luke shoots back, grinning.

It’s only when Calum settles down again, Luke gone with the promise of telling Calum all about his date tomorrow, that he feels a weird tightening sensation starting in his stomach and crawling all the way up his throat. He clears his throat, picking up his controller and waits for it to pass.

*

Going back to John’s studio feels a bit like going home.

It’s not been two weeks since Calum seen John last, but the surroundings are familiar, etched with memories that he might have started to take for granted in the sickening swirl of life since he was last here. A pleasant nostalgia descends as Calum accepts a hug and black coffee from the older man, who’s already buzzing on caffeine, lyric sheet flapping in front of him as he leads Calum to the vocal booth.

Staring through the glass, half-listening to John’s voice in his headphones, he feels safe here. He imagines himself back here, crowded around the microphone to record group vocals, Michael and Luke trying to out-do each other with one-liners while Ashton pretended to be above such juvenile behaviour—at least for a while. When he shuts his eyes, he can imagine the other room; the one with the ping-pong table over which he and Luke did most of their best writing, getting in some practice in before Alex came back to beat their asses easily.

He wonders if Luke wants to play some ping-pong anytime soon. It feels like a long time. It probably has been.

“You ready, Cal?”

Calum opens his eyes, locking them with John’s through the glass and nods.

Afterwards, John takes him out for lunch. Calum insists that it’s not necessary, but he won’t deny that he loves sitting with John, listening to him tell his stories, so his protestations are mild at best. It’s an old one today, one about the time he drove a girl across San Diego to go to a punk show on a Sunday night without permission from either of their parents. It’s weird, Calum thinks, listening to John talk about someone that he loves that isn’t his wife. Not every love has to be your last, he supposes. It doesn’t make them any less special.

Calum’s never been in love—not really. He’s loved plenty of people before, but he’s never really been in love with them. It’s not exactly something he’s aching for, but the idea seems nice, especially when he’s holed up in the studio with Michael, watching him with a dumb smile as he brings up another idea, another love song, every line from a warm place on the inside.

Wasn’t that its own blessing, though? Watching someone you love falling in love? Calum thinks so.

John asks about Michael. He’s not seen him in ages, he tells him. After Michael he moves onto Ashton, then Luke. He’s supposed to be recording some vocals for John, too, but when Calum messaged him, asking if he wanted to go together, he hadn’t replied until late, and even then it had been a _no, I can’t right now_.

“You wrote together, didn’t you?” Calum asks when they’re back at the studio. “You and Luke.”

He’s asking what exactly John thinks he’s asking.

“Want to hear?” John says. “It’s not done, still some vocals to clean up, but you can have a listen.”

As Calum listens, it’s hard not to imagine Luke sitting with John, jolted into a creative splurge by a wave of pettiness. It almost makes him laugh as he sits there, eyes on where John leans back in his chair, grinning like a mad man, like he knows exactly what Calum is thinking.

“He’s alright, you know,” John says as Calum pulls off his headphones. “Better, even—just readjusting.”

Calum nods, smiling a little because he knows.

*

After some not-so careful deliberation, Calum settles on the name Duke. It suits him, his little prince, and it’s close enough to his old name that there’s no way he could get confused. Michael is a little gutted by the revelation, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind, swishing the name around in his mouth as though it were mouthwash before spitting it out with a smile.

Luke’s on the couch with Michael, hollow of his cheek resting on the curve of his shoulder as he looks down at whatever Michael is showing him on his phone. Calum swings back and forth on chair across from them, sunk so low he’s almost completely flat. Sometime before Ashton had clucked out a warning about his bad posture, but he chooses to ignore him over trying to find some lyrics in the notes of his phone. It’s not urgent, but he knows they’re there and it’s bugging the shit out of him not remembering them clearly.

He remembers writing them, staring up at the flat black ceiling of his bunk with music blaring in his ears. They hadn’t had a show, but his feet hurt from exploring the city with Ashton and running around after Michael later to get his phone charger back. Somewhere in the bunk above him, Luke is restless having spent the entire day agitated and alone in the back of the bus, not wanting much to do with anyone but the screen of his phone. Calum thinks about popping his head behind the curtain to have a check on him, but he knows better. He’s always known better.

It’s the memory of Luke that swallows the lyrics in Calum’s head. He gives up, frustrated, and tucks his phone beneath his arm, letting himself come face to face with two pairs of eyes gawking back at him.

“What’s up with you two?” he asks.

Michael shrugs, bottom lip protruding as Luke kicks his legs up onto the couch, twisting and shuffling his body until his head rested on Michael’s thigh. All the commotion causes his t-shirt to hike up, and Calum can see the little trail of hairs leading down from his bellybutton to the top of his jeans, hips angled towards him.

Calum swallows.

“What’s up with you?” Michael asks back.

It’s a bit more concerned than sarcastic, and Calum feels even weirder for it.

“Nothing,” he says, too quickly to be true.

Luke’s eyes narrow on him, mouth moving like he’s about to say something but stopping just short. His gaze lingers a moment longer before he rolls completely onto his back, neck cradled in the curve of Michael’s thigh.

The jealousy taste metallic in his mouth and it lingers long after Luke has moved away from Michael and begun to start annoying him instead, whining a high “Caloooooom” as he takes yet another boomerang of him. There’s still traces after both Michael and Luke have gone home, leaving Calum with Ashton as he stares into the very centre of his steering wheel.

“You alright, man?” Ashton asks, stretching his arm out to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze down hard. “You look a bit…pale.”

It feels nice—grounding, almost, like Ashton is holding him back from teetering over the edge into some alternate reality where it’s not weird for Calum to want to run his fingers over the exposed skin of Luke’s stomach and maybe see if it quivers if he were to press his lips against it. Eyes wide as saucers, Calum looks at Ashton and blinks, fighting off the image in his head that threatens to eclipse everything in his sight.

“Fine,” he says, barely convincing himself, never mind Ashton. “I’m fine,” he tries again, more resolute this time but still fooling no one.

*

They’re in a rehearsal space for the day, cooped up inside in the warm air. Calum’s bass hangs from the strap on his shoulder, bumping against the top of his thighs as he sways back and forth, staring into the mess across the room as he guzzles down water. Luke and Michael are somewhere behind him, squashed onto the seat in front of the keyboard, whilst Ashton has taken up temporary residence in the middle of the floor, scoring out something he’d written a moment before on the setlist.

It feels like forever ago they were practicing for Sounds Live Feels Live. Muscle memory is the only thing getting Calum through the day, his mind swamped with an unease he can’t place as the other three buzz around him. He looks over at Luke, hanging off the mic stand and fiddling with his earpiece, and forces out a smile when he meets his eye. Luke pulls a face back at him, then laughs at himself, ducking down to hide it.

When they take a break, they sit outside. Calum grimaces as Luke slurps up his iced tea.

“Want some?” Luke asks, angling the cup towards Calum.

Calum eyes the straw, damp where Luke’s lips have been, and shakes his head. “No, man, gross,” he says.

For a while after, Luke keeps his eyes on Calum, watching him as he drinks. Calum shifts around in his seat, grabbing a cigarette and pulling the ashtray in the centre of the table closer to him. By the time Michael and Ashton join them, returning with their own drinks and one for Calum, he’s half-finished, tapping his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray and watching it flutter down to a murky grey death at the bottom. Luke doesn’t stop looking at him.

“Got a problem?” Calum asks.

Luke shrugs.

“You seem out of it.”

“It’s too hot,” Calum says. “It’s too fucking hot to be doing this shit.”

“Fucking say that again,” Michael agrees, fanning himself with the snapback he’s just plucked off his head.

Back inside, Luke hovers closer to him, almost catching Calum with the head of his guitar at one point, tripping back over nothing but his long legs and a stray wire. Calum holds him by the elbow to keep him steady, the bodies of their instruments clanging against each other as Ashton shouts from over his drumkit for them to not do that when they get on stage for real. Steady now, Luke flips Ashton off but stays close to Calum as he begins to sing, hands moving easily over his guitar. Only when it’s his own turn to sing does Luke saunter away, leaving Calum with a tight feeling all over his body.

*

It's Ashton that insists on hosting Luke’s birthday party.

It’s not really a party—there’s not enough people to constitute a proper party, but Luke seems to be having fun all the same, singing and drinking and making as much noise as humanly possible on Ashton’s makeshift kit. Calum stands back, marvelling as Ashton climbs up onto a table to record Luke doing so, his own inhibitions swept away in the tsunami of Luke’s happiness.

Sometime between the late and early hours, singing Luke a happy birthday at midnight, Luke loses his shirt and gains Ashton’s leather jacket, stolen from whichever room he’s managed to stumble in. It’s the jacket, too short on his arms, that gives Luke away when he comes tumbling into the back of Calum as he stands out on the balcony, the surprise of it almost making him drop his cigarette over the edge. Luke doesn’t apologise, just wraps his arms around Calum’s middle and smashes his face between his shoulder blades.

“Jesus, Luke,” Calum says, slightly winded. He reaches back to pat a hand on Luke’s back. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Why are you out here?” Luke says, ignoring him. “Come back inside,” he whines, nuzzling his face into him. “I miss you.”

“In a minute. I’m not allowed to smoke inside. Ashton’s rules.”

Luke tries, feebly, tugging Calum by his waist towards the doors, but he gives up easily when Calum remains resolute. He moves to the side then, leaning forward on the banister and looking out over the tops of the trees. Calum looks at Luke.

“How’s twenty-one feeling?” he asks.

“Alright, I guess,” Luke says, but he’s smiling as he does, shifting around so his hip rests against the banister.

Calum’s eyes roam his chest, exposed to the warm night air. There’s a slickness to the softness of his abdomen, a streak of something sticky down his tummy and darkening a spot on his jeans. Calum wants to laugh, but there’s something caught in his throat, keeping him quiet, keeping him still as his eyes continue to flit around Luke’s body. For his part, Luke seems unaware, staring back at Calum with that silly, clueless look in his eyes like he’s not all that here with him.

Luke reaches over and steals the hat from off Calum’s head. Calum, still too stiff to move, lets him without protest.

“I wish Mikey was here,” Luke says suddenly.

It’s not a big deal, Michael not being here, Luke’s already made that very clear. To Calum, it’s a bit weird, his best mate missing his other best mate’s birthday to go on a trip for his other best mate’s ex-girlfriend, but he supposes it’s no weirder than the way he’s staring at Luke’s chest, wondering how it tastes. He looks back at the glass of whiskey he’s left on the table, thinking maybe he’s had enough.

“I’m sure he’ll make up for it,” Calum says.

“Yeah,” Luke breathes. “He better. In Vegas.”

“Still going through with that?” he asks.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’ll be fucking awesome,” Luke says, reaching up to pull Calum’s hat further down his head.

Calum runs a hand through his own tousled hair, thick and unruly. He’s been meaning to get it cut, especially before they head back out on tour. Luke doesn’t want to cut his because it makes him look like a proper rockstar, he admitted sheepishly to Calum one day. He looks every inch of one to Calum, when he turns to look at him on stage and just now, intoxicated and happy, letting his body fall against Calum’s, knowing he’ll catch him.

“Woah, buddy,” Calum laughs. He throws his cigarette butt away and wraps an arm around Luke’s waist as he nuzzles a bearded cheek against his own. “Time to go back in, yeah?”

They move back inside together slowly, most of Luke’s weight leaning on Calum. As soon as they’re inside, Luke lurches away from him and into Mitchy, who does a slightly less sufficient job of keeping him upright, stumbling forward until he too retains his balance. Calum laughs at the sight, following the music towards the kitchen to get Ashton.

Ashton is tequila drunk and giggly, talking nonsense about how much shit he’s going to get from his neighbours.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, hooking an arm around Calum’s neck.

“Nothing,” he answers.

He lasts another hour or so before he feels the need to go home, his movements becoming maladroit and his head beginning to spin in a way that is no longer pleasant. He stumbles through Ashton’s house in search of Luke, not wanting to leave without saying goodbye, and eventually finds him coming out of the bathroom, drying his damp hands on the front of his thighs.

Without warning, he grabs the back of Luke’s neck and pulls his head down, planting a wet, sticky kiss on his forehead.

“Fucking love you, man. You’re my best-friend, alright?” Calum says, loud enough for everyone left to hear and accentuated by a few short jabs at Luke’s chest with his finger. “Fucking love you,” he repeats, pulling Luke down further.

Luke lifts his arms to wrap around Calum, leather of his jacket squeaking.

“You enjoy the rest of your birthday, ya hear me?” Calum says, face pressed into the curve of Luke’s shoulder, muffling his words. “Okay?” he says, pulling back.

Luke nods, big dopey smile on his face.

“Love you, too, Cal,” he says, voice quieter than Calum is expecting.

It sounds strange, like it might be more real than Luke intends it to be. Calum pulls Luke back against his chest, melting into the warmth of his body. It feels nice—too nice, and Calum jolts himself away as though shocked by an invisible force.

“I’ll see you,” Calum says, taking a step back, turning and not taking a glance back at Luke.

*

“Here,” Ashton says, handing Calum’s hat over to him as soon as he climbs into the passenger’s seat. “I just about managed to stop Luke taking it home with him the other day.”

Calum pulls his hat on over his head. He must’ve forgotten. It’s been a while since Luke stole any of his shit.

“Thanks, man.”

*

When Luke calls Calum the day they’re supposed to be heading to Vegas, asking if he wants to rent a Lambo and drive there together, he thinks Luke might’ve finally cracked. For real this time. All those hours cooped up in the bus, falling asleep and waking somewhere new, staring at the same four walls and dressing rooms that look the same, has finally caught up to him. Calum would be more concerned if it weren’t for the excited bubble of Luke’s voice down the phone, begging him to agree.

“Are you fucking nuts?” Calum says. “It’ll take, like, six hours to get there.”

“Four, actually. Four and a half at most,” Luke argues back. “Please, Calum? For me? Please? I’ll love you forever.”

Calum can’t believe it—he can’t believe he’s going to cave to such nonsensical whining. He sighs in defeat, and Luke is already celebrating on the other end. He clears his throat, looking down at his nails as he folds himself up on the couch, Duke by his feet. Duke can’t seem to believe it either.

“You promise? You’ll love me forever?”

“For as long as you live, Calum Hood.”

Calum almost forgets that he’s agreed to this when Luke texts him the next day to say he’ll pick him up in twenty minutes. He’s packed up and ready by the time Luke pulls up outside of his apartment, hood down on the convertible. Calum shakes his head as he throws his bag into the back seat and gets in the front, because this is fucking ridiculous. Luke is fucking ridiculous.

Luke tips down his sunglasses.

“You love it,” he says.

“I love you, for some reason,” Calum says.

He’s got plenty of reasons.

During the drive, they sit in silence for a while. Luke doesn’t seem to mind, fiddling with the radio while Calum gets distracted by the world moving quickly around him. He fucks around on his phone too, turning it on Luke, making a joke about this being his quarter life crisis. Luke laughs, eyes on the road.

Then for a while, all Calum can focus on is Luke. He’s wearing these shorts, black and riding high up his thighs, and the amount of skin on show is somewhat distracting. Calum follows it from the bunched-up folds over Luke crotch to where it disappears out of sight at the start of his socks. For some reason his legs look comically longer than usual, and more toned that Calum ever remembers them being. It must be all the running he’s been doing recently, all those hill walks.

“Man, I’m gonna get totally fucked,” Luke says, pulling Calum from a daze. “Like _fucked_.”

Calum chases the crude images out of his mind with a harsh rub of his eyes, leaving black blotches across his vision until it clears.

“I’m not carrying you back to the hotel,” Calum says, lacking anything else. “Not by myself, anyway.”

He’s only ever ended up doing that once, back in Sydney during a break. There was a time, not too long ago, that they both encountered the same, uneasy separation anxiety when away from each other for too long. He remembers, barely two days after getting off tour, finding Luke splayed out on his living-room couch as his mother made dinner. He wanted to go out, get drunk and pull, he told Calum when he managed to wake him up. It was freeing experience in the end, without any security or fans or hangers-on around them, drinking themselves silly until Calum had to phone a taxi home, awkwardly hauling Luke around by the waist.

He fell asleep in Luke’s bed that night, he remembers. He threw up in his bathroom, kicked him in his sleep and cuddled him in the morning.

Calum wonders if he could get away with that now, or if they’re past those childish antics. Looking at Luke’s giddy face as they pass a sign that indicates they’re almost in Las Vegas, Calum doesn’t quite think so.

*

The clock is ticking precariously close to the afternoon when Luke drags himself out of bed.

Calum has been up for hours, tired in a way that makes him feel like he hasn’t slept, but couldn’t if he tried. He’s seen himself in the mirror, rough and unshaven, but not nearly as bad as Luke when he shuffles over to where Calum is sat on the couch and curls up on the space that’s left. He groans as he shifts around, searching for a comfortable position and finding it with his head in Calum’s lap, his eyes protected by the crook of his arm from the light shining in through the glass walls.

From what Calum can remember, the night had been good. Everything is a little blurred after dinner, when Calum was already intoxicated enough to sing Luke happy birthday full pelt across the table, voice and enthusiasm drowning out everybody else.

As if on cue, evidence of this blares from Luke’s phone as he clicks through Instagram, startling him into dropping his phone against his face with a crack. He whinges as Calum laughs, hands skidding around his face, trying to get him to hold still so he can look. He has to grab Luke by the wrists in the end, holding his hands away from his face. It’s just a little red and he’ll live.

“I feel like fucking death,” Luke grumbles, rolling over onto his side. Calum feels his nose press up against his abdomen, breathing hot air through his t-shirt.

“Look like it, too,” Calum says, beginning to card his fingers through Luke’s hair to soften the blow.

Luke grunts in response, not even bothering to give him a quick glare or flip of the bird. He must be tired, Calum thinks, twirling a strand of Luke’s hair around his finger and letting it go again.

He only stops when more people begin to stagger from their respective rooms, congregating around them like a hungover attraction. Luke shifts away from him, sitting up with the heel of his palm pressed heavily to his temple, stopping his brain from throbbing right out of his skull. Calum throws him a few pitying glances as he reaches for a magazine and begins to read it out loud, distracting everyone enough to let Luke slink off somewhere quieter.

He’s much better by the late evening, most of them are.

Across the room, Luke is yelling. He does that a lot when he’s drunk. He’s already got that intoxicated glow to him, brightening up the room in a way that hurts Calum’s eyes. He leans against the kitchen island beside where Ashton is mixing him a drink, watching Luke, trying to understand what’s got him so animated as music blares by his ear. Whatever it is, it’s making Sierra and Crystal laugh while Brian slumps forward, completely and utterly done. 

“What’re you staring at?” Ashton asks, holding out a drink for him to take.

“Just Luke,” Calum says.

Ashton looks surprised, but not anymore than Calum is expecting. Maybe he’s just used to it by now. Maybe he doesn’t care. He hums as he twists his body around to grab his own drink from the counter before settling back beside Calum. To his surprise, Ashton leaves it there, not looking to pry, starting up on something about going to the studio in the next couple of days. Calum tries not to pay attention, the very idea of going back there filling him with a miserable fatigue. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy making new music, it’s just that it’s taking so long he doesn’t ever think they’ll get it finished.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says, not really answering what he thinks Ashton might’ve asked him.

He crosses the room, stepping over Michael’s outstretched legs and giving Jesse a motivational pat on the shoulder where he’s slumped over the arm of the chair.

Luke stops talking when he stops in front of him and throws an arm over his shoulder, pulling him forward, knocking Calum’s shoulder against his chest.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Luke is asking him, but Calum’s not really sure what about.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because Luke is his best friend and he’ll blindly back him to the hilt until it kills him. He slips his free hand around Luke’s back and settles his hand on his waist, squeezing onto him tight.

“’Course,” Calum says, patting Luke’s waist, then curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Of course you are.”  

“You see,” Luke is saying, smug, but it gets lost against Calum’s skin when he presses a simple little kiss to his hairline.

*

“You got a haircut.”

Calum automatically reaches up to graze a hand over his hair, short at the top and even shorter down the sides. He watches Luke come towards him, slightly bedraggled by the heat, and reach for him, fingers carding through his hair. They slide easily over his scalp, no curls to catch in, but Luke seems more disheartened by this new freedom than anything else. His hand stills on top of Calum’s head, lips threatening to push out into a pout.

Calum tilts his head up, scrunching up his face.

“You don’t like it?”

In truth, he doesn’t really care if Luke doesn’t like it or not, mainly because he doesn’t feed off the opinions of others as much as he does. That’s more Luke’s thing. It always has been. Ashton can be quite bad for it too, and Michael’s pretty neutral. He thinks maybe that’s why Luke gets so tired sometimes, because he’s so bogged down trying to please everyone, only for things to blow up in his face. It’s distressing to witness at times, but Luke’s a big boy and there’s only so much Calum can do for him.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Luke says. “I just thought we had a thing going on.”

“What thing? With our hair?”

Luke drops his hand from Calum’s hair and runs it through his own. He shrugs.

They’re rehearsing again today. Calum’s sort of caught between remarkably underprepared and painfully bored, playing the same songs over and over again until his fingers hurt. It’ll be better when they’re back on tour, thousands of people singing the words back at them, he reminds himself as Ashton rallies them together again.

They have lunch together in the empty space with their instruments. Luke successfully manages to wear most of his soup, distracted by a video Ashton is showing him on his phone. They’ve gotten much closer again, Calum’s noticed, always crowding together to have little chats amongst themselves when they have a spare moment. It makes Calum worry sometimes, that maybe the same thing happened to them despite his best efforts, that he’s only just starting to get back to where they were before.

Luke quashes most of his worries when he sits beside him on the arm of the couch, his fingers diving into his hair again. Calum lets him despite the cocked eyebrow Michael shoots their way, talking on the phone.

“Do you want to take the dogs out together?” Luke asks absently.

“Petunia might crush Duke,” Calum says, joking.

“I’ll crush you,” Luke threatens, then slides from the arm of the couch onto Calum’s lap.

Calum grunts from the surprise of his sudden weight.

“Get off,” he groans, shoving at Luke’s legs half-heartedly, not really sure if he does want him to move. Luke hooks an arm around his neck to hold on. “Stop being so—stop being so fucking annoying.”

“You want to take the dogs out or not?” Luke asks again, face dangerously close to Calum’s.

With some effort, Calum manages to wriggle free and get Luke off him, slamming him down on the free end of the couch. Somewhere in the distance, Calum hears Ashton shout at them not to break anything a few days before they’re due on tour. Luke huffs from the exertion beneath him, still continuing to struggle, his wrists caught in Calum’s hands.

“Sure I do,” Calum says, leaning down. He feels like kissing him, all sweaty and red-faced, and the realisation sends him jolting back, letting Luke free. “Sure.”

The two of them stay behind to talk and take pictures with some fans outside their rehearsal space. Calum enjoys it, but he especially enjoys watching Luke from a few metres away across the parking lot, floundering in a sea of teenage girls. He’s all happy again, and Calum would like to think it’s got something to do with them hanging out later, but it might just be the sun and attention from everyone around him making him glow golden and peachy white. 

They meet up with each other later in the day, when it’s much cooler and the sky’s a soft purple above them. 

They walk slowly, Duke’s little legs only carrying him so fast. Luke cackles as he walks, not watching his own feet and tripping, but still not taking his eyes from Duke. Calum bristles with a sense of satisfaction at this, smiling to himself and ducking down when he thinks Luke might notice.

“You buzzing for tour?” Luke asks Calum as they walk.

They’re halfway up a hill, and Calum can feel the burn in his legs and chest already. Luke doesn’t seem to be having any such problem, the bastard.

“Yeah, man, should be good,” he says. “Not too keen on leaving the little man behind, though.”

“I know what you mean. I hate leaving Piggy,” Luke says, sounding almost mournful. “I hate sharing her.”

Calum hums. It’s one of those things he doesn’t give Luke much sympathy for, finding the idea of getting a dog as a sort of fix-it kid one of the more moronic things he and his ex-girlfriend came up with. Sure it works for a while, but you can paper over cracks forever. Sooner or later the poison leaks through.

“At least it’s not for too long,” Calum says.

“I guess,” Luke huffs.

When they get to the top of the hill, Calum quietly—desperately—suggests they take a seat on the bench overlooking the view. It’s not the most magnificent vantage point in all of Los Angeles, but there’s something especially soft, especially calming about the way it seems to sit still for a moment before them. The entire city seems to be have washed of some of its colour and filed of its rougher edges, leaving behind something scenic and pretty, like a postcard Calum might send home to his mum.

It’s hard to believe something so beautiful harbours so much ugliness on the inside.

Luke slides down the bench, throwing his arm over Calum’s shoulders. Calum shifts closer, unable to help it.

“Weird how, like, the person you might spend your life with is out there,” Luke says, gripping onto Calum’s shoulder as though the thought might scare him. “Not like, _there_ ,” he adds, motioning in front of him, “but somewhere.”

Calum peels his eyes, staring out into the distance. A moment later, Luke bumps him with his shoulder.

“Unless we’re meant to die alone,” he adds.

“How pleasant,” Calum mutters.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad,” Luke continues. Calum turns to him, eyes wide and curious. “You wouldn’t break anyone’s heart when you go, I guess, and it’s just one of those things you have to do on your own, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t take someone with you. You come in alone and you go out alone, no matter how you dress it up.” Luke turns his head to face Calum. “Living alone, that’s the killer.”

Calum’s eyes flit from Luke’s eyes to his lips, heartstrings strung so tight he thinks it actually hurts. He wants to say: I won’t let that happen to you. You’re not dying alone. I’ll be there. Decades from now. I’ll be there. Just you wait.

“Where the fuck is this shit when we’re in the studio?” he says instead, making Luke laugh.

“I don’t fucking know,” Luke says through his squeaky laughter, dropping his head down and sighing with a gentle smile. His eyes lift. “You bring it out of me, Hood. Making me all soppy and introspective and shit.”

Calum cracks a smile of his own, jostling Luke hard.

“Don’t blame me for your bullshit,” he says.

“Wasn’t,” Luke mutters indignantly.

Calum meets his eyes again and can’t stop himself from burst out laughing, giving Petunia a bit of a fright from where she rests at Luke’s feet. Luke reaches down to scratch behind her ears while Calum pats the bench, beckoning Duke up. He watches the little dog analyse the jump, paws twitching, then make it with a slight slip.

Luke smiles goofily down at him.

“I still think Luke would’ve been a better name,” he says, slipping his arm from around Calum to clap Duke over the head.

“Of course you do,” Calum scoffs. His fingers flex over Luke’s knee where they rest, pads of his fingertips grazing over an old, yellowing bruise. “Idiot.”

They head back down shortly after, both of them moving on heavy legs and feeling the pull of their dogs on their leashes. Calum holds his hip at the bottom of the hill, ignoring Luke’s low jibes about how much of an old man he is, and then spiels of a half-hearted excuse about injuring himself playing football the other day. It’s not entirely a lie, but Luke sees right through him, just like he always has, and dismisses it with a wave of his arm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke says, standing by his car. Petunia is already inside, head popping up behind the window, big eyes wide as she waits for Luke.

“Yeah,” he says. Luke walks around to the driver’s side then, grinning at Calum from over the roof of his car. “Might want to practice Girls Talk Boys between now and then,” Calum shouts, sliding in his own dig when the opportunity arises.

Luke shakes his head and flips him off as he gets inside his car.

*

Calum goes through the first few hours of the day in a weird lull, a tension keeping him from going too zealous at breakfast and lunch. It’s just nerves, he thinks. It’s the first show back and he’s nervous.

He sits in the van on the way to the festival with his earphones in and his back turned to the boys. He can hear Michael talk above his music, chattering excitedly as Ashton drums out a beat on the window and Luke stares into space, mouth hanging slightly ajar until he catches on to something Michael is saying, and then he’s grinning like an idiot, leaning forward over the seat in front of him to talk to Michael better. He knows they’re a little nervous about the show as well, they’re own little ticks flaring up and petering out, leaving Calum to worry quietly in the corner, knowing fine well nothing could go that drastically wrong, but imagining it unfolding anyway.

They do a meet and greet before their show later in the day, and Calum uses it as a welcome distraction. Everyone is very polite and patient with them, smiling and laughing and thanking them for coming. There’s a genuine appreciation for them here, Calum feels low in his gut, and it lifts some of the uneasy weight from off his chest. He tells each and every person he meets that it’s a pleasure to be here.

In the dressing room before they’re about to go on is when Calum notices Luke’s nerves kick in.

Luke is fidgety where he sits sinking into the couch, but he’s not there long, bouncing up and making his way towards the rack of their clothes. He’s changed twice already, pulling off a shirt and putting on another, taking it off again and tugging at his undershirt before readjusting it back down again. Ashton tries to catch him, settle him down a bit, but all Luke does is steal his glasses and bound over to the mirror, asking them all from over his shoulder if it would be cool for him to wear sunglasses on stage. He shoves them up into his hair when Michael tells him he’ll look like a tit either way.

Ashton’s camera slows hurricane Luke down by the time Calum is pulling on his socks.

“Go sit with Cal,” Ashton instructs him, camera in hand.

He does as he’s told, dropping down next to Calum, the force of his weight sending Calum jumping a little.  

“Those stupid fucking glasses,” Calum mutters as Luke invades his space for no other reason than to be purposely annoying. He pushes him away by his shoulder, but Luke makes his body as heavy as possible, making it hard for Calum to move him. “Get outta my face, you weirdo.”

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” Luke says, voice softening in faux sadness. “I don’t like that. Take it back.”

“I don’t like that,” Calum parrots, but whinier. “Calum, don’t bully me, please.”

Luke’s smile is almost a grimace as he pokes a finger to Calum’s ribs. Calum catches his wrist, about to twist his arm back in retribution when Ashton shouts on them to cut it out. He’s standing with his camera a few feet away, one hand on his hip. Sneaking in a quick pinch of Luke’s arm, Calum shifts forward on the couch as Luke raises a hand out in front of him, fingers displayed in a peace sign. Ashton makes a show of taking their picture, telling them they look stunning, magnificent, beautiful. Luke’s peace sign quickly turns into a two-fingered salute, much to Calum’s amusement.

“I think you look good, by the way,” Calum says, thinking Luke might need to hear it, no matter how stupid it sounds the moment after he’s said it.

Luke twists his body where he stands and smiles back at Calum. He looks oddly bare without his guitar, fiddling with his earpiece.

“Thanks, Cal, I—”

“Good luck out there, lads!” Ashton says in a rush as he bumps past Calum, nudging him into Luke. He grabs the neck of his bass, keeping it from swinging and hitting him.

Luke goes to speak again, but this time he’s interrupted by a swell of noise coming from the crowd as Ashton makes his way onto the stage. The beat of drums soon follows, and then they’re motioned forward by a member of staff. Luke stays still, letting Michael and Calum go before him, urging them towards the stage with a splayed palm to the dip of their spines. Calum’s body feels on fire when he runs on stage alongside Michael, and all the nerves are gone.

*

Doing interviews again feels weird.

Calum sandwiches himself between Michael and Ashton when they’re sat down by the interviewer, leaving a nice little buffering zone between himself and Luke. It doesn’t really matter that much, because Calum can’t help from leaning back, looking behind Ashton’s head to look at Luke while he speaks or laughs, his laughter oddly unconstrained compared to the rest of them. Luke’s always been the quietly driven one out of all of them, and maybe this is a straight drop back into normality for him, something he’s been craving for the longest time.

It goes fairly well, all things considered, right up until they ask Luke about which female celebrity he would want to date.

It seems tactless to Calum, even a little cruel though the question is so benign. When Luke dithers over an answer, searching for the right thing to say, for the answer that will bring him the least grief, Calum’s stomach summersaults around on the inside. He tries to think of something funny, something that won’t—can’t—be taken seriously.

“Mary Poppins,” he whispers.

Luke dissolves into a short fit of laughter, throwing his head back to look at Calum and ask him what he said. Ashton repeats it for him in another whisper, and Luke gets away with it as an answer when they veer off topic and start talking shit like always.

Calum doesn’t feel all that bad when they start taking shots at Luke; mostly about his hair and the way he smells, but he takes it in good spirit. Growing up with two older brothers has definitely toughened him up, but it doesn’t stop him from being an easy target, or help him come up with any sort of decent come backs of his own.

Calum’s chest his still shuddering with the aftermath of a joke when he feels Luke’s hand on his shoulder. It’s been hovering near him for the entire interview almost, resting on the back of the couch, but now it comes down flat on the curve of his shoulder, heavy and deliberate. He’s even more sure that it’s not a casual positioning of his hand when he reaches up to touch the back of head, playing with the hair there. Calum tilts his head back to stare at him, asking a non-accusing why with his eyes, but when he looks Luke isn’t paying attention to him, sitting forward to listen to the interviewer.

Later that day, the show is a good one. The crowd is hyped and so is Calum. Luke, too, is especially hyped, no more so than when he temporarily abandons his guitar and begins strutting around the stage, throwing his arms around, shuffling and dancing, dragging his microphone stand around after him like a man possessed.

It’s Luke that comes to him on stage, guitar hanging from the strap with a microphone in hand. Calum’s up on one of the small platforms, squinting into the lights above the crowd, grin plastered across his face as he plays. He catches Luke walking towards him during Don’t Stop, but he pays him no mind until he feels his thigh bump up against his knee as he sets a foot on the platform. Calum looks down at him, fingers moving automatically down the neck of his bass, and finds him singing up at him. He’s got that weird, mischievous glint in his eye that makes Calum think he’s looking for a reaction, so he doesn’t give him one.

Instead, he mouths for Luke to go annoy Michael, and then he’s off across the stage, leaving Calum behind.

“That was a fucking good one,” Luke says after the show.

Luke’s all sweaty, hair sticking to his neck and t-shirt to his torso. He looks good. Calum’s dick seems to think so, anyway.

Calum’s teeth cut into his bottom lip. He’s always found guys attractive, and it’s never been anyone’s business but his, but there’s something about it being Luke that makes him a little clenched up inside when he thinks about it, like he’s hiding something he shouldn’t be.

“Completely sick,” Calum says, picking up a towel and chucking it at Luke.

Luke catches it with an uncoordinated flap of his arms.

“Thanks, bro.”

*

Luke kneels on the front seat of the van, head popping up from behind the head rest. He’s smiling, and Calum has an awful feeling he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear.

“You do look great in yellow,” he says, and then he’s gone again, turning back around and sinking down onto his seat, head bent over his phone.

Calum can’t help but laugh when he sees the tweet later on, a fondness blooming and bursting in his chest.

*

The moment Calum finds out what’s happened, he goes straight to Luke’s room. Michael’s voice echoes somewhere behind him, telling him to come back and leave it a while, but he can’t stop once he’s started, breaking into a jog through the lobby of the hotel. His mind is jumbled together as he jams a finger into the button of the elevator and slams himself back against the wall, trying to settle his breathing against the rapid beat of his heart. 

When he gets to Luke’s hotel room, he pauses for a moment to listen when he hears voices. It’s unmistakably Liz, stern but calming, so Calum backs away until he meets the wall, sliding down onto his backside. Staring at the door blankly, he wonders how it must feel, as a mother, to read those things about her youngest son, her baby. He wonders how his own mum would feel, still sleeping just a few metres away, if she woke up to the news about him.

Sitting there, Calum’s phone burns in the front pocket of his sweatpants, shape lost amongst the folds as he keeps his knees to his chest. At breakfast, Ashton had broken the news to him, a venom in his voice. Confusion had descended first, followed by anger, followed by Michael, white as a sheet from the shock, telling him not to go see Luke yet. It’s Luke, he can hear Michael saying to him, he’ll be mortified. You know what he’s like.

_You know what he’s like._

Calum does—but not everybody does. Now they just think they do, and something burns in Calum’s chest at the injustice of it all.

Liz comes out not long after Calum’s settled himself down from full-on seething, nails digging into his palms as he fists his hands by his sides. She looks down at him, a gentleness in her eyes, and keeps the door open behind her.

“Go on,” she says.

Calum gets to his feet and nods, thanking her. He pauses on the threshold of the room, eyes dropping to where Luke lies in bed, his back to the door and his body curled tightly in on itself. He turns back to Liz, who’s been watching Luke too, and tries to find any indication that this is a horrible idea.

He finds none and steps inside.

It seems like the simplest thing in the world to join Luke in bed, crawling across the sheets and settling down in the space beside him, chest to his back. Luke doesn’t look back, probably doesn’t need to, knowing the dip in the mattress like he might know Calum’s voice in an arena of a thousand people. Calum slips an arm over Luke’s chest, shifting a little closer, and blindly tangles his fingers into Luke’s, squeezing down hard when he knows he’s got a good grip. He rests up on the elbow of his other arm, letting his fingers graze lazily through Luke’s curls, eyes focused on the little pendant of his necklace that’s managed to twist its way to the back of his neck.

Calum thinks about saying something, but his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth to speak even if he could find the right thing to say. He lets the silence eat them up instead, listening to Luke breathe, the occasional little hitch in his breath. They stay like this until the sound of Luke’s phone buzzing on the nightstand jerks them both out of a daze, and before Calum can even think about it, he’s leaning over Luke to reject the call and twisting back to put it on the opposite nightstand.

“Who—”

Calum feels Luke’s body move like he’s about to sit up and make a grab for his phone, so latches himself to him, anchoring him down again.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says.

From the brief glimpse Calum caught of the screen, he knows it’s someone from their management team. He imagines them running around comically, trying to put out the fire that threatens to spread and take down the very foundations of their band, Luke’s reputation already chard remains in its destructive path. All the anger and injustice bubbles up inside of him again at the thought, rising like bile in the back of his throat as he shoves his forehead into the back of Luke’s neck, squinting his eyes shut against his hair. He pulls Luke closer to his chest, thinking he’ll be safe there, but it might already be too late.

“Cal,” Luke says quietly. “Calum.”

A warmth spreads through Calum at the sound of his name, soft and steady from Luke’s mouth. He shifts his arm, tightening the hold he’s now got on the front of Luke’s t-shirt as he feels Luke’s fingers stroke down the back of his hand.

 “Yeah?”

“I fucked up,” he says. Calum’s heart sinks through the floor. “And now everybody knows.”

“I know you did,” Calum says, because there’s no point denying it. “But you don’t deserve this.”

This time when Luke moves, Calum lets him. Calum backs away slightly as Luke flips over to face him, noses so close they almost brush. The weird thing is Luke looks almost fine, well-rested and glowing from sleep. His eyes, though—his eyes are so sad that Calum selfishly wishes he would turn back around to stop himself getting all choked up at the sight of him. Calum shifts his gaze down to his t-shirt instead, all wrinkled and bunched at the front where Calum had held on tight.

“Maybe I do.”

Calum’s body seizes up, shocked as though he’s been drenched in icy cold water.  

“Come on, man, don’t be stupid,” Calum says, surprised by the levelness in his voice. “No one deserves this it’s fucking—it’s so fucking cruel. You don’t deserve it.”

Luke hums, nestling his face into his pillow. He still doesn’t look as upset as Calum feels, and something about this annoys him, like he’s being needlessly offended on his behalf. It’s got to be clawing at him from the inside, flooding his thoughts until it fills up his lungs, but Calum may never know. He wants to reach over and shake it out of him, but he doesn’t, choosing instead to lay a hand on the side of his head, pushing back his hair and twisting the strands between his fingers.

“I really loved her,” Luke says suddenly.

“I know.”

“And I just—I didn’t want to be wrong.”

Luke never wants to be wrong, stubborn to a fault.

“About what?” Calum asks.

Luke shrugs. “Everything.”

Calum moves his hand forward to run his thumb over Luke’s cheekbone. Luke’s eyes flutter shut.

It feels a bit weird, being this close to Luke when there’s a siege of murky thoughts swimming around in his mind. His head even begins to spin with the possibilities of just shifting a little closer, closing the space that separates them. Luke’s got his eyes closed. It could be an accident.

“What are you gonna do?” Calum asks.

Luke stays completely quiet, completely still. If it weren’t for the frown creasing his brow, Calum might think he’s fallen asleep on him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Nothing,” he breathes, blinking his eyes open. “Pretend it didn’t happen.” A sick, twisted little smile plays across Luke’s lips, making something in the back of Calum’s neck tighten. He pulls his hand back from Luke’s face. “I’m good at that.”

Luke moves towards him, pushing at his side and forcing him flat against the mattress. When he’s got him where he wants him, Luke rests himself half on top of Calum’s body, nuzzling his face into the soft folds of his hoodie. Calum rests his hands on Luke’s back, sliding over the thin material of his t-shirt. It’s been a long time since they’ve done this.

“Wanna cuddle,” Luke says belatedly.

Calum smiles past the top of Luke’s head as a small rumble of laughter passes through the both of them. Luke is dead, motionless weight on top of him, his thigh already beginning to numb where Luke has trapped it with his own. His body is colder, too, naturally so, and Calum has never been more self-aware of how warm his own body runs, palms hot against Luke. Luke doesn’t seem to mind having his own personal furnace, humming contently into Calum’s chest.

Before Calum can fall into any meaningful sleep, Luke drags him out of it, pushing and pulling at his shoulders to wake up.

“Come on, man, I’m hungry now,” Luke is saying, body hovering over Calum’s.

When they get downstairs, Crystal immediately moves from where she’s pressed to Michael’s side, walking straight past Calum to hug Luke. Calum watches them, throat closing at Luke’s whispered apology down at her, then turns to Michael, who gives him a weak smile over the breakfast he’s still picking at. Calum sits down beside Ashton and gives each of them a nod as if to say everything will be alright.

*

In Stockholm, Ashton catches Calum searching Luke’s name on his phone.

“Dude, will you fucking quit that,” Ashton snaps. They’re tucked into a booth in the hotel bar, waiting for Luke to come down from his room. They’ve been down here a good twenty minutes or so, and it’s long past the time they agreed to meet, but neither of them are too keen to do or say anything. It’s just like in Malibu; they’re back to walking on eggshells around Luke again. “He’ll be fucking mad if you--”

“Who’ll be mad?” Luke asks, sliding into the booth on the other side. His knees knock against Calum’s under the table. “Michael?”

“It’s nothing,” Ashton says. “First round’s on me.”

Ashton slips out of the booth and Calum watches him go, desperate, not really wanting to be stuck alone with Luke while they’re both still painfully sober. He knows it’s terrible, knows it might make him a terrible person, but there’s nothing more that he wants to do than to tell Luke to cut this ‘everything is fine’ bullshit he’s got going on. Michael, Ashton, his own fucking mother—they all seem fine with going along with it, but not Calum. Nothing good will come out of this.

Luke rests his hands up on the table, rings glinting in the low light. He looks—well, despite the jetlag. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they are no worse than Calum’s, no worse than Ashton’s. Calum can feel the ache of it, messing with his brain, but getting drunk seems like a much better option that just stewing in the misery of a fucked-up body clock.

So they get drunk.

It shouldn’t feel this good, but it is; it’s a sort of weightlessness, softening down the sharp edges of life to the point they think nothing can hurt them. It’s a nice thought, even if it isn’t true, and Calum lets it sit with him for a while, smiling lazily as Luke begins to talk too loudly to be civil and Ashton becomes his de facto pillow. Ashton’s going a little more cautiously than the other two, slightly more aware of his surroundings.

“We’re meeting up with Carl tomorrow, remember,” Ashton says. Luke humphs at the reminder that they’ll have to wake up early. “Your sister, too,” he adds, just to Calum this time. He begins to move.

“You’re not leaving already are you, Ash?” Luke whines, tilting his head back. “Come on, please stay. You’ll be fine in the morning. Have another.”

“No can do, Lukey boy,” Ashton says, and Calum watches something strange flicker across Luke’s face. “Don’t go too mad, alright?” he tells them, moving completely away from Calum, letting his body sag to the side for a moment before he remembers how to keep himself up straight.

Before he can go, Luke jumps up from his seat to hug him goodbye. It’s weirdly intimate, making Calum feel odd and grab for his pint as a distraction. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Luke cling to Ashton, his arms enveloping him, squeezing him so tight that Ashton goes a little redder in the face. They’ve probably been having some of their deep conversations again, leaving Calum as the one no one seems to trust with anything. What bullshit, he thinks.

Instead of going back to his original place, Luke drops down beside Calum, head landing on his shoulder. Calum bends his head down, mouth hovering by Luke’s ear.

“Lukey boy,” he whispers, laughing in a wheeze.

“Fuck off,” Luke groans, turning his face into Calum’s shoulder. He can feel his nose against his collarbone, breathing in deep and slow. “He only calls me that when there’s something wrong.”

Calum swallows, thinking back to Malibu, to Michael’s hand coming across Ashton’s chest to stop him going to talk to Luke. He damps his bottom lip with the edge of his tongue.

“Is there something wrong?”

Luke’s quiet for a moment, then he’s pulling away from Calum, muttering something about needing some air. He doesn’t ask him to, but Calum goes with him, holding onto the cuff of Luke’s jacket as they make their way outside and around the side of the hotel. Calum takes the opportunity to light a cigarette, watching carefully through the smoke as Luke leans against the wall, head titled skywards. There’s no stars in the sky, he notices. He half expects Luke to start going on about a documentary he watched on light pollution, but it never comes. He stays completely silent.

“You never answered my question,” Calum says.

“Don’t need to,” Luke answers back, scuffing his boot against the ground. His hands are slipped into his pockets, protecting them from the biting midnight cold. “Don’t wanna.”

Calum drops his cigarette on the ground and crushes it under his foot, dragging it along the concrete. Luke is right; he doesn’t need to, not if he doesn’t want to, but that doesn’t stop Calum from persisting. He wouldn’t normally, but everything is softsoftsoft in his head, and nothing will hurt, not even as he takes a step forward to curl his hands into the lapels of Luke’s leather jacket and force him back against the wall.

“Why’d you gotta be like this, huh?” Calum says.

“Like what?” Luke asks, hands limp by his sides.

“Difficult. A fucking idiot. I don’t know.” It doesn’t make much sense in his head, or when he leaves his mouth, but he doesn’t take it back. He pulls on the labels again, forcing Luke forwards then slamming him back. “You can’t pretend forever.”

“Fuck you, Calum,” Luke spits. His hands come up, wrapping around the crook of Calum’s elbow, but he doesn’t try to push him away. “You don’t know shit.”

This annoys Calum, irrationally or not. He tightens his grip on Luke, turning his knuckles into his chest and pressing down hard.

“Maybe I would if you fucking talked to me.”

Luke’s eyes burn, incandescent. Calum almost backs off then, almost calls it quits because he knows, somewhere in the slowly sobering part of his brain, that this will not end well. One of them is going to end up on their ass if they’re not careful.

“What d’you want me to say, huh?” Luke says then, and it comes out much smaller than Calum is expecting. He sounds wounded, and Calum wonders if the fire in his eyes is concealing something much worse. “Come on, Calum, what d’you want me to say? Got any fucking ideas, because if there’s something that’ll make this all go away, I’ll say it. If there’s something that’ll make you happy, I’ll say it. Fucking _tell me_.”

Luke sags against the wall then, the strain of holding him up passing through Calum’s wrists. Their faces hang so close together Calum smell the alcohol on Luke’s breath, the aftershave on his neck.

“I just wanna know how you’re feeling, man,” Calum says quietly, almost muttering.

“I’m scared,” Luke admits. “I’m scared I fucked everything up for you guys. For the band. I’m scared no one’ll…love me now, or something. Can’t love me. Wouldn’t want to.” Luke’s sadness passes through Calum, sinking his heart to his stomach. Luke nudges his head up, eyes eating into Calum’s soul. “Happy now?”

He’s not, no. He’s not happy now. He’s distraught, insides churning like the world is ending.

So he kisses him, surging forward and pressing his mouth to Luke’s.

Luke yelps, head jolting back mechanically, but there’s nowhere to go between the wall and Calum’s tight hold on his jacket. Nothing but white noise resounds in Calum’s head as he squeezes eyes shut, not wanting to look, not wanting to feel anything but Luke’s cold and beer-sticky lips against his. It’s barely even a kiss, not until he parts his lips, mouthing blindly and desperately, searching for a return in the pressure but not finding it.

Until he does.

Luke is hesitant, body shuddering cold and hot all at the same time. With his eyes shut, he could be anyone, but Calum knows it’s Luke, can feel his presence through a crowded room. It’s not an exceptional kiss, but by the time Luke is jerking his head away, catching his breath, a joy has fizzed so far through Calum he can hear it ringing in his ears.

He opens his eyes, blinking slowly. Luke shivers in front of him, mouth hanging ajar and twitching like he’s had the words stolen from right out of his mouth. Calum finally lets go of his jacket, letting him slink away, stumbling on unsteady legs. He watches Luke touch his lips with the pads of his fingers, then look back at him, face as white as a sheet.

“Luke,” Calum says.

Luke shakes his head, eyes wide.

“Don’t—” Luke cuts himself off, eyes falling to Calum’s feet, then back up to his eyes. “Don’t you dare fucking say anything,” he says.

“I’m sorry—”

“Shut up!” Luke shouts. “Jesus fucking Christ, shut up.” Luke’s voice snaps somewhere as he speaks, body stumbling back and smacking up against the wall again. He’s doubled-over, hands on his knees. Calum wants to reach out and help him, but he thinks better of it.

In the end, he doesn’t need the help, because he’s straightening himself up and lurching towards Calum, sending them both stumbling back as he kisses him hard, finger curled tightly around his cheeks and chin. Calum grapples for Luke’s waist, hands sliding easily between the material of his jacket and t-shirt and holding on for dear life.


	2. have the best of me

They sit on the ground together, backs against the wall. In front of them, Luke’s legs stretch out forever, and Calum watches as the inside edges of his boots come smacking together rhythmically, creating the only sound between them. Calum’s own legs are pulled to his chest and heavy, his arms wrapped around them to keep them in place. They stopped kissing about ten minutes ago, and ever since slinking to the floor, boneless from the effort, they’ve sat in silence, staring out into the dark bushes that surround the hotel.

It’s Luke that eventually breaks the silence.

“That was—” Luke stops himself, biting down on his tongue. Calum watches him, but Luke doesn’t look back at him, eyes fixed on the spot where his boots continue to meet. “That was nice,” he says quietly.

Calum’s chest deflates with a tension he hadn’t been aware of. He looks at Luke, really looks at him, and doesn’t shy away even when he finds Luke staring back at him. The lights from the hotel cast them in an orange glow, sparkling in Luke’s jetlag and drunk-tired eyes. Calum sort of wants to kiss him again, but sort of wants to run away in the opposite direction as fast as his feet will carry him as well. He doesn’t move an inch.

“Nice,” he echoes.

Luke’s face twists like he thinks Calum is making fun of him.

“You know what I mean,” he says, just like he always does, and Calum supposes he’s right. He does know, but he can’t exactly put a finger on the word for it. Nice is safe, honest. What it really feels like is a song coming together, or that moment as the last guitar note floats around the venue after a show and three sets of sweaty arms come and wrap around him. “It was—it was…”

This time, it’s Calum that stops Luke with a hand on his thigh. Luke’s eyes drop down to where Calum’s hand rests, fingers splayed and pressing firmly down on the bone. It feels a little weird, touching Luke, like it’s different somehow, everything ten times more heightened, more intimate. He squeezes down, eyes meeting Luke’s.

Calum clears his throat.

“I don’t know—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says, watching Luke flinch with a grimace. “But I wanted to do it, you know? When you said you were scared that no one would love you, I just wanted to make sure you knew that I—well, I love you.” This doesn’t feel weird, like he’s exposing a hole in his chest, because Luke knows that he loves him. Luke’s always known.

Luke nods, confirming.

“I know,” he says, so gentle it almost gets lost in the breeze. “I kissed you back because I wanted to.” It sounds so simple when Luke blurts it out, which is a nice change from him being needlessly difficult. “I really wanted to, Calum.”

Calum runs his tongue over his bottom lip, asks, “For how long?”

Luke reaches up, touching Calum’s face with a clumsy hand, rings burning icy cold against his skin. Though he’s sitting, Luke sways a little as he concentrates, eyes following where the edge of his thumb catches Calum’s damp, chapped lip.

“So long,” Luke says, breath hot against Calum’s mouth. “Ashton said—”

“Ashton?” Calum asks, cutting Luke off. He regrets it, because Luke leans away from him then, his hand pulling away and fisting tightly in his lap. “He knows that—that you wanted to…?”

Luke curls away as though shy, saying, “I told him, back on my birthday ‘cause I woke up at his and freaked out because I kept on thinking about, y’know, stuff with you.” Luke burns so red Calum can feel the heat radiating off him, and for a long moment he thinks about asking Luke what sort of stuff, but he refrains. Luke’s been through enough humiliation recently. “He told me to talk to you, but I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t,” Calum says. “Neither could I. I didn’t wanna ruin everything.”

Luke lets out a cold little laugh.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “that’s my job.”

Usually, Calum would scold Luke, tell him to stop feeling so fucking sorry for himself, but it doesn’t seem right this time. Instead he stretches out a hand and takes an awkward hold of Luke’s hair, pulling him towards him and bringing their lips together. It’s a bit rougher this time, a bit weirder from the angle they’re both sitting at, Calum’s neck craning to keep his mouth on Luke’s. It’s nice, though, familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible just yet. It’s Luke, though, a giddy voice in Calum’s head reminds him, and he knows every inch of him like he knows himself.

Luke’s hand glides over the front of Calum’s abdomen, settling on his hip where he can feel the roughness of his jeans beneath his t-shirt. Calum pulls back for a moment, staring down at Luke’s hand as his own continues to cradle his cheek, thumb now swiping over his cheek bone.

“I love you,” Luke chokes out suddenly. “Calum, I really fucking—”

“I love you, too,” Calum says, fast before he can catch it again. It’s nice saying it out loud, meaning what he wants it to mean with no doubt in his mind, no doubt in Luke’s.

Calum leans forward to kiss along Luke’s jaw, just because he can. “We should probably go back inside soon,” he mumbles, Luke’s scratchy beard against his lips.

They get up, using the wall and each other for balance, and stumble back inside. It’s not until they’re in the lift taking them up to their floor that Calum touches Luke again, putting his hands on his waist as he kisses him, gently backing him up against the wall. Luke laughs into his mouth as though nervous about getting caught, but his hands are much bolder, sliding into the back pockets of Calum’s jeans.

The elevator stops at their floor and they get out. Calum walks slowly, prolonging the inevitable. He’s not at all ready for when Luke’s body comes crashing into his again, sending his head thunking against the wall. Luke’s kisses are fumbling and desperate, and Calum doesn’t ever want him to stop.

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Luke asks.

It’s probably not the best idea, but when Luke is half-hard and rutting up against him, Calum can’t bring himself to say no. He nods, curling his fingers around Luke’s wrist and pulling him towards the door. While Luke opens it, he lets his hands roam over Luke’s back, mouth open and warm against his ear, telling him to hurry, telling him he can’t wait any longer. He’s never had dreams about Luke, never found his mind wondering to him as he jerked himself off, but there’s something immensely satisfying about the prospect of being able to touch Luke properly.

Luke doesn’t make him wait.

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket the moment the door shuts behind them, pulling Calum to the bed and barely giving him a chance to do the same. Calum lands on top of Luke, which is a pleasant change from being trapped underneath him, and immediately reattaches their lips, hands tangling in his hair.

Calum pulls back a little, nudging his nose into Luke’s cheek. “Can I touch you?” 

Luke doesn’t move, paralysed where he lies. He stares up at Calum with wide eyes and his hair fanned out beneath him. Calum feels his heart beat in his throat, waiting, fingers twitching impatiently on the button of Luke’s jeans, but not wanting to do anything without permission.

“Yeah, you can—touch it,” he says face twisting because he’s just given Calum the invitation to touch his dick. “Please.”

“Luke,” Calum says, unbuttoning Luke’s jeans blindly. “Luke, you gotta—gotta help me—”

Luke lifts his hips up, and Calum’s gaze drops to his crotch, the outline of his cock clear through the fabric of his boxers when he gets his jeans past them. He can’t help himself, reaching down and cupping Luke with a firm hand, pressing down and rubbing, unsure what to do with a cock that isn’t his own. Despite his own uncertainty, Luke seems to like it, his head falling back and his legs continuing to kick free of his jeans until Calum hears the material hitting the floor. He gently squeezes Luke’s dick.

 “Shit,” Luke says. “Calum, please—” 

Luke bucks up into his hand, needy and whining. Calum stares at him, eyes clenched shut, making little noises from high in the back of his throat. It’s so fucking hot, Calum thinks, moving his hand and sliding it down into Luke’s boxers this time. He’s hard already, because it doesn’t take much for Luke—Calum knows that, the whole world knows that now. At least they don’t know what it looks like, he thinks almost bitterly, moving his hand, feeling the rough drag of pubic hair against his wrist.

Calum barely even registers Luke fumble with his own jeans until he jams a hand down the front of his boxers, cold metal of his rings a shock to his skin. Calum swears, and Luke’s gaze flicks up, previously settled on where their hands disappear into each other’s underwear, accompanied by an almost cheeky smile.

“Shit, dude,” Calum breathes, feeling the warm curve of Luke’s hand around his dick. “Feels good,” he says, then drops his head down to kiss Luke again.

It’s a bit awkward, their arms twisted between themselves as Calum tries not to put too much of his weight on top of Luke. Eventually he’s forced back, Luke’s free hand pushing on his jeans, encouraging them down. They separate, and Calum takes the opportunity to strip free of all his clothes, then move to help Luke, his fingers shaking over the tiny buttons of his shirt.

“Let me,” he says, knocking Luke’s hands away. He unbuttons his shirt slowly, revealing more and more skin until it hangs open and he can push it off over Luke’s shoulder. “There you go.”

They’re both on their knees now, facing one another. Calum moves closer, dropping his head down to kiss at Luke’s neck as one of his hands goes back to jerking Luke’s dick, the other around to clumsily grab at the meat of his ass. Luke moans up at the ceiling, his hand still hesitant around Calum’s cock, squeezing down intermittently, while his other tries helpless to grab a fistful of Calum’s hair, finding most purchase on the very top of his head, the swell of his bicep tense against the side of his face.

“Calum,” Luke says. Calum feels Luke’s voice in his throat, beneath his lips. “I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“Yeah?” Calum breathes. He looks down, forehead resting on Luke’s shoulder, the glistening head of Luke’s cock appearing as he pulls the skin back. “Go for it,” he says, eyes transfixed. “Come.”

Luke does, thick, white and warm down Calum’s thigh. His body shudders, pulling away and coming back, his grip around Calum’s cock now pitifully slack.

“Oh God,” Luke moans, Calum’s thumb curiously dragging over the slit. On his ass, his nails dig into his skin. “Holy shit.”

Luke’s mind seems to have gone all heavy and fuzzy, so Calum lets go of his twitching cock and wraps his hand over his knuckles, forcing the movement of his hand around his own dick. Calum lets out a shuddery sigh of relief, finally beginning to build up some sort of rhythm that’s evaded Luke, and comes himself, slumping forwards into Luke’s solid frame. While he recovers there, breath settling, Luke wriggles an arm free and throws it around him, holding onto him tight.

*

When Calum wakes up the next morning, Luke isn’t there. He grumps, crawling across the bed and reaching down to turn off the alarm going off on his phone. He collapses back when the silence resumes, resting a hand on his stomach and scratching idly at an itch as he stares up at the ceiling, memories of the previous night flooding through him and settling warm in the pit of his stomach. He rolls over, smiling, a joyful yell accompanying his action as his face smushes into the pillow.

The smile remains when he gets downstairs for breakfast, Ashton already waiting with a cup of coffee, head propped up by his arm as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone. He picks his head up in acknowledgement, but soon drops it back down, yawning.

“Luke went for a run, if you were wondering,” Ashton says. “He shouldn’t be gone too long now.”

“You never told me,” Calum says. “About Luke, I mean. You never told me that he liked me.”

The realisation comes slowly to Ashton’s features, head rising from where it rests on his arm. On the table, he tightens his grip around his phone, knuckles turning white. Perhaps there’s something in the total nonchalance that Calum had asked him that’s making him wary.

“Wasn’t really for me to tell, was it?” he says eventually, shrugging his shoulders. “Did he say—did you talk about it after I’d gone?”

Calum feels a hot wave rush over his body. “I kissed him,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to either side of him. “We talked afterwards,” he adds, sparing Ashton the details.

Ashton mouth opens like he’s about to speak, but something over Calum’s shoulder distracts him. Calum turns to see Luke blunder his way through the hotel restaurant, dressed in his workout gear and drenched in a large hoodie. He loudly proclaims that he’s starving as he passes them by, on his way to get something to eat. Calum can’t help but smile like an idiot, even when Ashton catches him.

“I know, by the way,” Ashton says when Luke returns. He smacks a hand down on Luke’s neck, giving him a gentle shake. “What did I tell you?” He says this last part quieter, like it’s not entirely intended for Calum to hear. 

Luke smiles at him, chewing on toast.

They all decided to wander around the city together. It’s usually something Ashton and Calum do, Luke and Michael preferring to sit in the hotel or tour bus and play videogames, but since Michael is still in Japan with Crystal, Luke comes along with them. Calum’s camera comes too, photography being one of those things he’s picked up from Ashton from spending so much time with each other. They’re in such a beautiful city, and it would be a waste not take some pictures.

Of course, he does end up taking quite a few of Luke, both for his own selfish enjoyment, and as a much-needed ego boost on Luke’s part. Thankfully, Luke doesn’t shrink away, revelling in Calum’s attention.

“Not to sound like a dick, but you need to make sure things don’t get awkward,” Ashton says to Calum when Luke is out of earshot.

Calum stares down at the preview of a picture and deletes it.

“How’d you mean?” he asks. “I’m not gonna hurt him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Calum stands up a little straighter, shoulders set back. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt him like that again.”

“I know you won’t,” Ashton says. “But neither will I.”

There’s something touchingly brotherly about the glance over at Luke that Ashton takes, and Calum supposes he has every right to be worried. Not only are they best friends, but they’re bandmates. They work together in close proximity almost every day with another two people that won’t be pushed into taking sides. Things could get very weird, very fast.

“I promise,” Calum says.

Ashton smiles, knowing.

*

Calum rests his head in his hands, fingers linked against the curve of his skull. He’s on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as he hears the drag of a chair against the ground and the mindless chatter that fills the dressing-room around him.

They’re in Russia now, playing the last show of this leg of the tour. It’s been an eventful few weeks, and despite the craving to go out and play more shows, he’s looking forward to going home, sleeping in his own bed. He’ll probably need the rest, too, he thinks, body sinking into the floor as he waits for Ashton to take his picture, a fatigue already beginning to creep into his bones. It’ll go as soon as the show begins, but afterwards it’ll be much harder to shake.

Above him, Ashton bobs in and out of view like a buoy on the ocean. There’s a usual flurry of tension in the room as he climbs up onto the chair, the venue staff stiffening where they stand, praying nothing bad will happen. He senses it and waves them off, swaying slightly, and Calum can’t help but have one of those weird visions about Ashton’s camera coming down and smacking him on the face.

“Wait! Let me in, let me in!” Luke’s voice comes out of nowhere, startling Ashton and making Calum pick his head up. By the time he’s managed to locate Luke, he’s dropping down to the floor and sprawling out beside him. “Take it now, take it now,” Luke says, smiling and linking his fingers over his chest. Calum throws Luke a curious glance as Ashton takes the picture, laughing.

When Ashton is done, Luke rolls onto his side. He rests a hand on Calum’s stomach, fingers threatening to creep between the space between the buttons of his shirt. Calum watches him carefully, not moving, letting Luke touch him in a room full of people. It’s not like it’s weird or out of character or anything, but this morning Luke had made him come with his hand and a brave muster of courage to suck on the head of his cock, and right now it’s all Calum can think about. Luke’s got a big mouth. It goes in so easy.

Luke purses his lips, hovering slightly above Calum where he rests up on his elbow, palm smushing his face. He leans in a little closer.

“You look hot in all black,” Luke says, because he’s a dick.

Calum narrows his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, “and what are you going to—”

“Get up, you two. I want to take more pictures,” Ashton shouts from across the room. When Calum cranes his head to look at him, he’s got this shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on, get a move on.”

In slightly less of a predicament, Luke gets up first and helps haul Calum to his feet afterwards. Calum can’t help but let his hands linger on Luke as he pats his back in a half-hug, still holding on to him a little as they take a detour to pick up Luke’s tea and make their way over to Ashton. He tells them to make faces at each other, so they do, and the final result has Luke squeaking out a laugh as he hooks his chin over Calum’s shoulder, all of them, Michael included, looking through the photographs Ashton has taken.

During the show, Luke seems especially drawn to Calum. Calum doesn’t mind, grinning when Luke wanders over to his side of the stage, eyes gleaming and shouting over the music about how fucking awesome this is. Calum nods back, eyes crinkling around the edges, and watches Luke back away towards the centre of the stage again. When it’s been a while, Calum himself goes over to Luke, crouching slightly as he plays, waiting for Luke to notice. The moment he does, Luke smiles around the microphone and dips to the side, singing to Calum directly, the head of his guitar swinging precariously close to hitting him. 

At one point, Luke sprints past him to the very end of the stage, and he takes the opportunity to wander over to Michael and make faces at him as he plays his solo. Unbeknown to him, Luke is fucking around with something that he’s found on stage, but he lets it drop when Calum’s just about back at his microphone. Luke gets there before him, sings his line and leaves him to dance happily behind him, grin so big on his face that his cheeks hurt too much to sing.

He really does love this. All of this; his band, his boys, his Luke.

*

Going home, Calum finds himself quickly besieged by reality.

He sleeps for most of the first day once he’s got Duke home, barely doing anything but lounging around, a hand constantly in Duke’s fur. He makes the mistake of asking Luke if he wants to take the dogs for a walk again, only to be given the plummeting reminder that Luke doesn’t have Petunia back just yet. Calum makes a small distressed sound as he drops his phone, the device burning in his hand. He swears, dragging a hand down his face and thumps his head against the arm of the couch.

It’s a weird thing he’s got with Luke now. They’re not boyfriends, but they’re not just best-friends anymore either. Ashton asks him about it, sprawled out with Duke in Calum’s garden. It’s too fucking hot to be inside, but outside is even worse. Calum squints into the sunlight, thinking he can never win.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Calum admits, nudging his ashtray around the table he’s sat at. “I don’t think he wants to.”

Ashton laughs, adjusting his sunglasses. “Of course he doesn’t.” He rolls over onto his stomach, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “He can’t always get what he wants, though, can he?”

Calum supposes not, supposes he can’t tread carefully around Luke forever. It’s hard, though. It’s hard not to put himself in Luke’s shoes and be overcome by such pain, such betrayal, and not wonder how he could ever let himself love someone so openly again. Calum knows that feeling, that mistrust. He got his dick plastered across the internet because of it, and Luke got all his dirty little secrets.

“We’ve got time,” Calum says.

Ashton sighs and sinks down into the grass. “Just don’t go fucking hurting each other,” he mutters, face resting on his crosses arms. “I couldn’t fucking deal with that.”

A little while later, Ashton is gone, and Calum is messing around on his phone, waiting by the toaster to pop up. It’s purely by chance that he clicks on Instagram the moment Luke has added something to his story. Expecting some oddly narcissistic boomerang, Calum almost melts to the floor when he’s greeted by a picture of Petunia staring up at him. Another comes up as he’s slathering butter on his toast, this time of Luke and Petunia together, the happiest beings on the planet by Calum’s slightly biased estimations.

*

Luke’s kisses taste like the raspberry ice pole he’s just eaten, and his mouth is still cold and sticky with it too. Calum hums into the kiss, content, fingers dragging the scabby material of Luke’s t-shirt up his back until it’s bunching up below his arms. Calum jerks his head away for a moment to yank the t-shirt off of him, letting it fall by their feet as he continues to walk Luke backwards towards his bedroom. It’s all very cliché, he thinks; sitting in the studio finishing off some vocals, leg bouncing with frustration until he can get Luke on his own.

It takes some manoeuvring to finally get Luke on his back, on his mattress, shorts already riding down his hips. Calum folds himself up at the end of the between Luke’s legs, hand palming over the bulge in his shorts just to tease, unwavering when Luke’s outstretched fingertips try and encourage him down, begging, wanting, needing. He looks at Luke’s face and smiles when he sees he’s not looking back, eyes rolled back up at the ceiling as he moves his hips wildly, searching. His hands are gone from Calum’s shoulders now, curling into the pillowcase either side of his head, trying not to touch even though Calum doesn’t say that he can’t.

The thought is fiery in Calum’s stomach.

Tired of waiting, he tugs off Luke’s shorts and boxers, taking Luke’s dick in his hands. It’s still a little weird, he thinks, pumping his hand mechanically and hunching over, pressing a kiss to the fleshy inner part of Luke’s thigh before letting his mouth hover of the head of his cock. He collects some spit in his mouth and lets it drip out slowly between his lips, watches it roll down the side of Luke’s dick until his hand moves over it, spreading it around and slicking up his palm.

Calum ducks down and licks over the head of Luke’s dick, cautious, still out of his depth. He’s only done this a couple of times before, but Luke doesn’t seem to find any fault in his technique, hips ticking up and breathing out Calum’s name.

“Get on with it,” Luke says, frustrated. He’s lifted himself up onto his elbows, watching, a pout threatening to push out of his lips. He’s always so desperate for it, has been since they were teenagers, back when Calum was the same but not so much anymore. He thinks of all the girls, all the satisfied and self-pleased little smiles afterwards, and how none of them matter anymore. “C’mon, Cal, please.”

He’s so polite when he says it, Calum doesn’t think twice about pushing himself down on Luke’s dick.

It’s not the biggest dick in the world, but it fills up Calum’s mouth nicely, and the squeak-turned-groan that Luke lets out makes it more than worth the effort. He goes down as far as he can before pulling off again, a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to the head of Luke’s cock as he pants, breath fanning over Luke’s sensitive, spit-slick skin, and making him squirm, one of his knees accidently bumping up against Calum’s side as he does.

“Cal,” Luke moans, fingers threading in Calum’s hair. “Calum.”

“Stay still, alright?” Calum tells him. His voice is quieter than usual, the lingering feeling of Luke in his mouth making it difficult to speak. “Can you do that?”

Luke stares at him. He drops his hand away, dragging it up his torso and palming at his reddening chest. He nods, curling his fingers around his necklace where it lies. 

Sliding his hands around to settle on Luke’s waist, he leans in and takes Luke back into his mouth again. It gets easier as he gets used to it, lips stretching and tongue rubbing purposely along the underside of Luke’s cock. He gags a little, eyes watering at the sick, slimy feeling in his throat, but he regains his composure remarkably quick, and as he shifts to take Luke down ever further, he feels his own cock heavy in his boxers, untouched and twitching against the fabric. He moans at the same time Luke does, but the sound is much deeper and less breathy, muffled by the cock in his mouth.

He pulls off to breathe a little, keeping his tongue running over the head of Luke’s dick. His face and neck feel hot, burning from the effort and mild uncomfortable embarrassment that still plagues him when he’s taking cock into his mouth. He looks up at Luke through his lashes, admiring the blush that’s spread up from his chest to his cheeks, turning him a glowy pink. He gives him a smile when their eyes meet.

“Bet you can’t hold it much longer,” Calum says. “Gonna come soon, aren’t you?”

Luke’s face is placid as he registers what Calum has said. When he realises, his head falls back and his chest heaves, tummy quivering.

“Can’t fucking hold it,” Luke breathes up at the ceiling, taunting himself. “Can never fucking—shit.”

 _Taunting himself_.

Calum’s dick kicks as he moans and goes down on Luke again. He moves his hands to Luke’s hips, letting his fingernails bite into his skin as he curls his fingers around him, keeping him in place. Luke’s moan this time is chocked, like he likes the feeling. A catalogue of scenarios swarm through Calum’s mind as he shuts his eyes, but he pushes them away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Calum,” he whines. “I think I'm gonna—”

Usually, Calum would pull off. He’s going to, he thinks, blinking his eyes open, Luke’s cock still jammed far into his mouth. He’s going to, he is, but he doesn’t and sucks harder, just to prove a point. He lets Luke come in his mouth with a pathetic little cry, nails clawing at his shoulder for purchase. He doesn’t take it all, letting most of it drip from his mouth back onto Luke’s dick, his balls, running between the curve of his thighs and dampening the mattress beneath them.

Come in his mouth, glistening on his lips, Calum crawls up to kiss Luke, letting him taste. Luke’s nose wrinkles, laughing just a bit.

“Gross,” he whispers.

“You’re fucking gross,” he says back, reaching down and beginning to shove down his boxers and jeans. “Shit,” he groans, wrapping a hand around himself. “Little help here, mate?”

Calum’s acutely aware that he probably shouldn’t be calling Luke ‘mate’ after he’s just had his dick in his mouth, but Luke doesn’t seem to care all that much as he manoeuvres around, still a little weak in the knees. He isn’t the best at sucking cock, still hasn’t gotten it down, but the very sight of him, lying there between his legs, is almost enough for Calum. 

Luke’s mouth is warm, lax, very willing to let Calum fuck up into. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his tongue and teeth. Calum reaches down and fumbles blindly with the tie in Luke’s hair, pulling it out and letting the curls fall forward in a mess. He gathers some in his hand, fisting it tight and keeping Luke’s head still. Luke lets out a pleased little gargle, liking this too.

“Jesus,” Calum breathes.

Luke looks up at him, wet around his eyes, and smiles around a mouthful of cock.

When Calum comes, Luke is licking at the base of his cock, face pressed there by Calum’s grip on his hair. He makes a mess of Luke’s face. Luke grumps as Calum laughs, hand on his chest, following the rhythm of his heart fall back to something normal. Calum tells him through a series of short breaths that if he doesn’t want it in his hair, he should swallow it next time. All of it.

Luke shoves him by the shoulder, laughing, when Calum pulls him close, licking some of his own come from where it’s slowly trickling down the side of Luke’s neck. He stops here, sucking and biting, leaving a small mark that he thumbs at happily when they’re in the shower together a little later. Luke clings to him, telling him to cut it out, but grazes his own teeth down the side of Calum’s shoulder, smiling into his skin.

*

Michael finds out in Peru. Calum just sort of—blurts it out, and follows it by downing most of his post-show vodka and coke. Michael stares back at him as he fights the burn in his throat, feeling like slinking his way under the table. Despite this, his chest lightens, because now Michael is back to knowing everything there is no know about him. In his head, something about this makes everything okay.

“Oh,” Michael says in a small voice. “Cool. So, are you, like—gay or something?”

“Or something, probably,” Calum answers, frowning down at the table.

 “Shit,” he says after a moment of silence. He runs a hand through his hair. “You and Luke.”

Him and Luke. When he really thinks about it, it’s strange, and it must be even stranger for Michael, finding out so out of the blue. It doesn’t seem to have bothered him, though—not that there’s any reason for why it would—and soon there’s a subtle, familiar smirk gracing his face. He’s right next to him, but Calum can feel the remark coming a thousand miles away.

“I always knew you’d abandon me for Hemmings,” Michael says, digging an elbow into his side. “Not cool, bro.”

Nostalgia swamps Calum’s insides, getting him all chocked up. He remembers the petty rivalry between Michael and Luke, being so scared that one day either one of them would make him choose. Sometimes he thinks about it, his mind wandering away from him, and something tightens in his chest every time he picks Michael in his head.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though, because Calum got the both of them. He never had to choose.

Calum leans into Michael’s shoulder, nuzzling close. “I didn’t,” he says gently.

Michael smiles as he turns his face into Calum’s hair, kissing him there. “I know.”

*

It’s going too well, running so smoothly, that of course something is bound to go wrong.

It’s just—she’s so pretty with her brown hair and almond eyes, the kind of girl Calum knows Luke likes. She’s dancing close to him, on him, and Luke is so stupid, doesn’t even see what’s happening two feet away from him. Calum can see, though. He sees everything as his shoulder tense and his fingers twitch, a red-hot jealousy beginning to brew in his veins. The rational part of his brain cries out to him that he’s being stupid, but somewhere inside his head the message gets warped and twisted, lost in an intoxicated haze.

It’s when he loses sight of Luke, that’s when the jealousy is replaced by a panic masked as anger.

“Can you fucking believe him?” Calum says, sidling up to Ashton, drink in hand. “Put a hot chick in front of him and he’s—he’s fucking off.”

Not swamped by such paranoia, Ashton drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Do you _really_ think he’s off banging some girl?” he asks, just enough of a condescending edge to his voice to make Calum shrug his arm off harshly. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Fuck you, man,” Calum says, giving Ashton a dismissive wave of his hand. “If you see him, tell him not to come to my room.”

“Calum—”

As he shoulders his way through the crowd of bodies, a thumping dance tune pounding in his ears, Calum’s anger drains away to something sticky in the back of his throat. He’s not going to cry in the middle of a club, he tells himself. No fucking way. He’ll do that outside, back in his hotel room, where he can beat himself up for being so fucking stupid. It’s Luke, for fuck’s sake. He should’ve known. He should’ve known better.

After a quick taxi back to the hotel, Calum aims a few punches into his pillow. It helps, sort of. So does shoving in his earphones and listening to music really loud until it gives him a headache behind his eyes. He rips them out again just in time to hear a hammering on his door, Luke’s voice agitated on the other side.

He should let him stew out there, but he doesn’t. Calum walks slowly across the room and puffs out his chest before opening the door, revealing a furious Luke.

“What the fuck?” Luke shouts. “I go out for some fucking air and come back to Ashton telling me you thought I went off with some chick. What the fuck is up with that, huh?”

Calum can really feel his blood pumping now, because everyone’s talking to him like he’s fucking stupid for some reason.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Calum mutters, turning away, letting Luke inside. It’s not a great idea, but Calum’s mind isn’t exactly in the best place.

The door slams shut.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know what you’re fucking like,” Calum snaps back. “Guess it’s on me for thinking you could keep your dick to yourself when you were with me.”

“I didn’t fucking do anything!” There’s a weird desperation cutting through Luke’s voice. He sounds—sad. He looks sad, too, when Calum looks at him properly. “I told you—I told you I was scared no one could love me after what happened. I fucking _told_ you. And now you don’t fucking trust me. Point fucking proven.”

Calum’s stomach bottoms out, because Luke is right. His chest tightens with embarrassment, then shame, then an uncomfortable ache to wrap Luke up in his arms. He falters as he moves towards Luke, opening up his arms in an apology. He reaches out, touching the sides of Luke’s arms and rubbing his hands down them, mumbling about how he’s sorry, that he does trust him, that he didn’t mean to make Luke feel like that.

Despite everything, Luke falls easily into his embrace.

“I tried to be good—in the end, Cal. I really tried,” Luke says, warm and wet against Calum’s neck. Calum holds him up in the centre of the hotel room, petting a hand through his hair. “I’m not gonna be bad anymore, Calum. I promise.”

“You’re not bad, you just made some mistakes,” Calum whispers down to him. “Sorry for being a dick about it. I just—I got it in my head and I just—”

Luke lifts his head, nose nudging Calum’s check on the way up. His eyes are all glittery from drinking and almost crying, but they close again when Calum runs a thumb across his stubbly cheek, going further and tucking some hair behind his ear. His lips pull into a tight-lipped smile, face turning into Calum’s hand. Gently, Calum encourages him forward to press a kiss to his lips.

*

“Everything’s good, then?” Ashton says the next morning, watching Luke and Calum drag themselves through the hotel lobby. “I don’t need to kick any asses?”

“Everything’s chill, Ash,” Luke says, hauling his suitcase after him. Calum gives him a little smile. “I call backseat with Mikey!”

*

They have a meet and greet before their first show in Brazil. Milling around in the hotel beforehand, Luke corners him into making another boomerang, and Calum tries his best to look disinterested and bored as the camera pans to him. Despite his efforts, there’s a glint of endearment in his eyes, shining back at him as he watches Luke type out a caption, proclaiming that Calum hates him, but he loves Brazil. Calum tuts at the caption and Luke grins back at him.

“That’s my shirt,” Luke says as he leans back into Calum’s lap, lifting his hips off the couch to shove his phone back in his pocket. “I want it back.”

Calum reaches down, pulling the snapback from off Luke’s head. “And this is mine,” he says, even though it isn’t. Regardless, it still might not belong to Luke, who’s waving his arms around manically trying to grab it back. “Aw, you want your hat back, baby?” he says.

Luke pauses in his attempt at getting his hat back, face scrunched up and nose twitching. It doesn’t seem weird until Calum’s replayed it in his head a couple of times, and by then a mortification dawns and he hands Luke his hat.

“Sorry,” he says. “That’s a bit weird.”

Luke doesn’t put it back on straight away. He stays where he is, hair fanned out on Calum’s lap, staring up at him with his head cocked like a confused puppy. After one further moment of silence, Luke begins to laugh, legs kicking out at the arm of the couch. His face scrunches up even tighter, and before long he’s trying to hide away, nose pressed into Calum’s lower abdomen, his shoulders continuing to shudder with laughter.

“I like it,” Luke says, sitting up after a while. “Baby.”

Luke must really like it, or at least, he really likes taking the piss out of Calum, because when they’re waiting around after the meet and greet, Luke yells for Jon’s attention. Turning away from Ashton, Jon cocks an eyebrow at Luke as he begins to grab at Calum’s shoulder. He tells him to take a picture. Of what isn’t very clear to Calum at first, he, Luke and Michael just standing around doing nothing, but it becomes apparent when Luke tells him to catch him.

“Catch you? What—”

When Luke jumps, legs swinging up, Calum just about manages to hook an arm beneath them, the other going to grab his waist.

“Jesus fuck,” Calum groans, stumbling back a step as Luke tightens both arms around his neck, holding on tight. “Hurry, take the picture, Christ—”

As soon as Jon gives him the thumbs up, Calum almost drops Luke on his ass. He lands heavy on his feet, staggering forwards but triumphant. Calum makes a show of stretching out his back, pretending it hurts a lot more than it did. Somewhere off to the side, Michael shakes his head, calling them both idiots. Something about this—Calum’s not sure what—prompts Luke to take great fake offence and begin to chase after Michael, threatening to kick his ass. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Ashton says, body being used by Michael as a human shield. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

Luke’s mood stays equally as high for the entire day, right up until they’re about to go on stage. He’s jumping around, standing on the couch, touching the ceiling, feet up against the wall as he strikes a pose to the Bon Jovi that’s blaring from the speakers in their dressing-room. Ashton’s long since abandoned any hope of getting him to settle, whilst Calum and Michael have been enjoying the spectacle from across the room. Calum’s probably been enjoying it a bit more, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip when Luke’s t-shirt lifts with his arms, soft tummy exposed to the world. He silently hopes Luke’s still in such a good mood when they get back to the hotel.

Just as they are about to leave the dressing-room, Luke catches him around the neck again, the sleek fabric of his bomber gentle on Calum’s cheeks when he buries his face into his shoulder.

“Good luck,” Luke says, pulling back and staring at Calum. “Not that you need it, but, y’know. Good luck.”

Calum slides his hands down Luke’s sides, seriously thinking about kissing him in front of everyone left. There’s a weird buzz floating around in his system, like Luke’s passed it through to him, alive like a wire, and it’s messing with his rational thoughts. He can’t kiss Luke here—but he could. He could and he wants to.

He doesn’t get a chance to, in the end, Luke tearing away from him as quickly as he had come, chasing down Ashton this time for an overenthusiastic high-five. Ahead of them, he sees Michael trying to walk away quickly, but his attempt at escape is futile.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Ashton says by the side of the stage. Calum’s only half listening, the crowd screaming as the countdown begins and he ducks under the strap of his bass. “Have a good show,” he adds, then runs off up the steps, the noise in the venue swelling to a crescendo.

*

Luke gives him a lap dance in front of everyone in São Paulo, and Calum tries not to think about how close his crotch is to his face as he ignores him, eyes on his phone.

Luke doesn’t let him ignore him in the hotel room later.

*

In Rio, it’s a long walk from their dressing-room to the stage, and the wait by the side of the stage lasts for an eternity.

Adrenaline courses though Calum, sending him bouncing up and down on the spot, a wave of noise washing over him and receding again. To his left, Michael is focused. In front of him, Ashton is grinning, excited. To his right, Luke is guzzling down the last of his tea. Everyone else bleeds off into the background, and it’s suddenly just them again, the four of them, and Calum finds himself jogging on the spot again, bouncing, one hand tight around the neck of his bass.

“Can you fucking hear them?” Luke says by his ear, leaning close. He sounds excited, like a child.

“I can’t fucking hear myself,” Calum says back, though he’s not sure how much of it Luke catches, already fiddling with his ear piece again.

“I can’t believe this,” he hears Luke say, but not to him. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

He watches Luke out of his peripheral vision; bobbing around, making jokes, getting a fist bump from whoever will entertain him with one. And then he’s gone. Calum jerks his head around, searching, and finds Luke on the floor, squatting low with his fingers braced on the floor. He’s not looking at Calum, but at where a sliver of the massive crowd can be seen from the side of the stage. Calum thinks about it, but he doesn’t say anything to him, not even when they get the call to run on and Luke is bouncing to stand again, following so close behind that Calum couldn’t turn back and run even if he wanted to.

The show is immense. There’s so many people that Calum forgets how to breathe.

During the show, there’s a split moment when Calum thinks he’s going to lose Luke. He’s just walking, punching the air with his fist, the white of his shirt glowing in the bright lights that surround them. Calum squints into the distance, at the ferris wheel sitting pretty in the distance, flashing a dozen different colours. It distracts him for only a second, but when his gaze shifts to the middle of the stage again, Luke is gone. It’s like he’s walked too far and been swallowed up by the crowd. Even then, in amongst tens of thousands of people, Calum thinks he could find Luke. He’d never stop looking.

Then Luke emerges from a blur of light, his voice cutting through the music. Calum swings his bass, happy, and catches Ashton’s eye from over a mountain range of cymbals. He shouts something—Calum has no idea what, but he grins back, head moving wildly with the beat.

As time goes on, they get more adventurous. The stage is huge, running on far to Calum’s left, and every so often Luke passes him in a flash, curls bouncing behind him as he sprints. It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall. It’s a wonder Calum doesn’t grab a hold of him and kiss him in front of all these people. He wants to, looking across at Luke when he’s in usual place again. He loves him. He looks past him then, eyes on Michael, and thinks he loves him, too. And Ashton. He loves them all.

He loves them all for giving him the best night of life.

Afterwards, it doesn’t feel real. The air returns to his lungs, making him lightheaded and in desperate need of a smoke. By the time he staggers into the dressing-room, Ashton has poured himself a drink, Michael has his arms wrapped around Crystal and Luke is fizzing around in the centre of the room, talking loud about how he still can’t fucking believe it.

“You better fucking believe it,” he says, stopping behind Luke.

Before Calum can even register it, Luke is in his arms.

He’s warm, sweaty and solid, clinging so tight around his shoulders that it’s almost overwhelming. He’s yelling nonsense and laughing in his ear as he gets his arms around Luke’s back, holding him so fiercely that he almost lifts him off his feet. Calum presses his cheek to the side of Luke’s neck, soaking in his joy, his laugher. He squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating on nothing else. When he opens them again, they’ve managed to turn in a circle, and Calum lifts his gaze to meet Ashton’s. He raises his cup and nods, grinning like a fool.

“Come on,” Calum says quietly, sliding his hand to Luke’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Calum leads Luke the way he’d just come back from, shoving his way through a backdoor and stepping out into the late-night air, the smell of smoke still lingering. Above them, the sky is black, but everything glows brightly around them. Calum is used to the cold, but it bites at the sweat on Luke’s skin, cooling him down, making him shiver as Calum pushes him up against the wall of the boxy dressing-room trailer.

 “Shit, Calum, we just—” Luke says, shaking his head and dropping it forward. Calum reaches up to cup his cheek, forcing him back up. “There was so many people, Calum,” he says, a childish wonderment to his voice that makes Calum’s heart balloon.

“I know,” he says, thumb swiping over Luke’s cheek, making his eyelashes flutter. “You were so good—fucking awesome, actually,” he amends.

Luke’s hands curl into the open ends of his shirt, twisting tight and pulling him closer. They’re so close Calum can feel Luke’s breath against his nose, and it barely takes a nudge forward for Calum to find Luke’s lips with his own, pressing a small, quick kiss to the side of his mouth. He inches away and then back, kissing Luke properly this time.

When it’s over, Calum doesn’t pull away, resting his forehead against Luke’s. His hair tickles his face.

“I love you,” Calum says, more than he’s ever meant it before. “So much.”

“Love you,” Luke whispers, a giddy edge to his voice. “Calum, I—”

Calum doesn’t find out what Luke is about to say, because he’s falling into him, kissing him hard. Luke’s hands are all over his back, pulling at his shirt, flattening on the small of his back to bring him even closer. Calum lets himself be moved, spun around and pushed up against the wall. Like this he feels small, cornered, Luke’s body taking up his entire line of sight when his eyes flutter open for a second only to clench shut again. His head spins with everything that’s happened, the light-headedness returning.

He puts a hand on Luke’s chest to stop him. Luke whines, neck straining to search for his mouth.

“Don’t you wanna go see Maroon 5?” Calum asks, teasing.

“Fuck that,” Luke says, managing to press forward enough to catch Calum’s jaw with his lips. Calum tilts his head up, out of reach again, and Luke moans. “Caaal.”

“We should go back inside,” Calum says. “They’ll think we’ve gone off to fuck.”

“That’s what I had in mind,” Luke giggles, squeaky and cute. It’s enough for Calum to cave, leaning forward and kissing Luke hard on the mouth, hands dropping to have a grab at his bum. Luke moves forward automatically, catching Calum’s body between his own and the wall. “We can’t just do _that_ and not celebrate.”

“You’re fucking terrible,” Calum laughs. “And insatiable.”

Luke hums, looking rather proud of himself.

*

With a scrunched-up face and a hand lazily pulling at his dick, Luke squirms on Calum’s lube-slicked fingers. “Still feels weird,” he says, even though they’ve done this half a dozen times before. “Feels good, though.”

Luke’s on his back, thighs opened lazily to make room for Calum between them. They’ve been at this for a good five minutes now, taking it slow, in no real hurry to get it over with. Calum sort of prefers it this way, fisting his own cock in a loose palm, head tilted down to watch the ease with which Luke takes his fingers. He’s so good, Calum thinks, gnawing at his bottom lip. So ready for it.

“Shit,” Luke breathes, hand stilling around his cock as his body tightened around Calum’s fingers. “Jesus, Cal. Fuck me now.”

“Are you sure?” Calum asks, sliding his fingers almost all the way out and pressing the pads of his fingers to his hole. Luke moans, broken and high, the head of his cock beginning to shine with the precome beginning to push its way out of him. “If that’s what you want,” he says, gently, his eyes straying away from his fingers to Luke’s face, finding a set of dark eyes staring back at him. “You wanna stay like this?” he asks.

Luke just lies there, unable to respond, mouth open and chest heaving now.

“Please,” he whimpers, tilting his head back into the pillow.

Calum looks at him, drinking in the sight of him as he reaches over to the nightstand for a condom. He’s so beautiful, so broad. There’s not an inch of him that Calum doesn’t want to touch with his hands or his tongue, wanting to explore, wanting to discover. Every day he has a different favourite part of him, from a curl that sits just nicely across his forehead to a freckle in the dip between his shoulder blades, alone amongst another thousand little skin stars. Calum can’t help himself, reaching out and smoothing a flat palm along the soft inside of Luke’s thigh, thinking, today, this is his favourite part.

Luke tucks an arm behind his head, looking up at him fondly. His hand starts moving over his cock again.

“What are you looking at?” Calum asks, eyes flitting between Luke and where he’s trying to put on a condom with lube-sticky fingers. “Creep.”

“Nothing,” he says. “You gonna get in me or not?”

Folding himself over Luke, he does, slowly, arms hooked around his thighs, pressing them back towards Luke’s chest. Luke lets out a deep, shaky breath as his hand stills around his dick again, his other hand tightening into a fist by his head. He opens up so easy around him, the pulse and warmth of his body making Calum falter and press a kiss down on the side of Luke’s mouth, missing his intended target. Luke laughs, breath warm against his face, and turns his head an inch to kiss Calum properly.

Calum sucks in a breath as he bottoms out. Luke feels so tight and warm and easy, clenching around him as his knuckles catch Calum’s stomach as he moves a hand over himself. Calum tucks his chin down to his chest to look at Luke’s hard cock between them, a jolt of satisfaction shooting through his core when he remembers it’s because of him.

 “You okay?” Calum asks, breath sticking to the spit glistening on Luke’s lips.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Yeah, feels so— _fuck_.”

Finger anchoring down to the flesh of Luke’s thigh, Calum pulls out a little, then thrusts back forward. Luke’s mouth sets itself in a tight circle, breathing hard out of nose as he stares up at Calum, his gaze unwavering despite the jolt of his body every time Calum snaps his hips forward. Faces mere inches apart, Calum can already see the sweat beginning to form by the edge of his hairline, gathering in the dimple of his cupid’s bow. He kisses just there on impulse, the taste salty in his mouth.

“Come on,” Luke says, licking over where Calum’s lips had been. “Fuck me.”

Calum unhooks an arm from around Luke’s thigh, letting it slide down against the bed. He braces himself on a hand by Luke’s head and leans down far enough for their foreheads to touch, thrusting into him hard and calculated, stomach flipping in the way this makes Luke squinch his eyes shut. There’s a heavy blush on both their faces by now, and everywhere their skin meets his hot and sticky, heat of their bodies radiating from one to the other.

“You like it?” Luke asks suddenly. His breath is hitching, killing the mocking nature of his question, but it makes Calum whine anyway.

Of course Calum likes it—not just because Luke is warm and tight and clenching around him, but because it’s Luke. It’s Luke and everything he’s ever wanted, the residual remains of a crush flaring up and setting alight to his insides. It feels good and it feels right, like somehow this was always meant to happen, that John had been right about them being kindred spirits, soulmates, two parts of the same entity longing to come together again. All those lives looking for him, and finally he’s here—he’s always been here, and all the wasted time he spent not loving Luke like this is his only regret.

“Yeah,” Calum breathes, pressing his face into the swell of Luke’s bicep. “You feel so good.”

Luke’s hand abandons his cock, slipping up the side of Calum’s torso and coming to settle on his nape. He strokes his hair there, keeping his face pressed into his arm.

“Shit, Cal,” he says, beginning to push back on Calum’s dick. “Go harder— _fuck_ —I know you can.”

Finally, Calum lets Luke’s other leg go, leaving him boneless like a marionette cut from its strings. He pushes himself right up and braces his hands over Luke’s shoulders, keeping him still to jam his cock in deep. Driven on by some sort of need to prove a point, he’s lost a steady rhythm, fucking Luke harder, mindless, just like he asked. As a reward, Luke’s whines louden to a cry, cut-off and choked, and his hand is back around his cock, jerking himself off as Calum fucks him.

Luke doesn’t last much longer. His stomach jumps as he comes, spilling over his own hand. The hand by his head fists into his hair, pulling like some sort of masochistic gesture to purposely punch Calum in the gut.

“Fuck,” Luke is whispering as Calum continues to rut against his ass. He drags his dirty knuckles down Calum’s stomach, over his own, getting them both messy. “Fuck, Cal, I love you so much. I love you—”

Calum’s head is a blur of white noise. He doesn’t hear what Luke is saying, or what tumbles out of his own mouth, not until he feels Luke’s lips against his own, mumbling, mouth slack and pouty beneath him. Only then does he become vaguely aware of Luke’s gentle encouragements, of his own heated proclamations that he’s going to come, he’s going to come, he’s going to come.

After he does, he crashes down on top of Luke, his cock slipping out of his ass. Luke mewls underneath him at the uncomfortable sensation before he’s sliding his arms around his back, rolling them over and letting Calum sink back into the sheets. He hovers above him, hair spilling down over his face and tickling Calum’s eyes.

He leans down, kisses him, and Calum makes a clumsy grab for his waist, arms suddenly very heavy.

“Love you, Cal,” he says, pulling back and sitting on Calum’s thighs.

Calum slides a hand over his knee, telling him he loves him too.

*

That night, Calum can’t sleep. Legs bumping against Luke’s, not sleeping alone is something he’s still getting used to, but he’s not sure that’s what’s keeping him up. With a grunt, he gives up and tosses off the sliver of duvet he’s managed to steal back from Luke and heads out into the hall. There’s something weird and disorientating about navigating Ashton’s house in the dark, searching for they key that’ll let him out into the patio. When he eventually finds it, the keys clinking so loudly he’s sure both Ashton and Luke will wake up, he slips outside into the cool air and takes a seat on the swing seat.

Everything is deathly quiet but for the sound of the swing under Calum’s weight as it moves back and forth. Above him the sky is inky black, a dark abyss. It makes him feel tiny, sometimes—insignificant. He shifts his bum around on the seat, thinking of Luke’s adoring eyes, trying to build himself back up again before any murky thoughts can even begin to cloud his brain. Everyone always says it, that Calum doesn’t know how great he is—but he does, sort of. Or, at the very least, he’s starting to. Shaking off that teenage angst.

Getting caught up in a lull, Calum doesn’t hear Luke step out onto the patio, but he does hear him bump into something, cursing softly into the night.

“Thought you’d done a runner on me,” Luke says, sitting down beside Calum. He rests his cheek against Calum’s shoulder, tucking his legs up on the small bit of space that’s left for him. He wraps his arms around one of Calum’s, hugging it to his chest. “Knew you couldn’t have gotten far.”

Calum turns his face down to Luke, amusement cutting through a frown. “Like I could ever get away from you,” he says, crossing his other arm over his chest to tuck a strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear. “Stuck with you now, aren’t I?”

Luke lifts his head up, pressing a small kiss to Calum’s lips.

“You’re stuck with me for a very long time, Calum Hood,” Luke says.

 Calum thinks he can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't end fics WHO KNEW
> 
> ANYWAY thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> if you want, you can find me on tumblr [here](https://partycake.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi and if you want to share this fic, it's [here](https://partycake.tumblr.com/post/166993857969/take-the-pieces-build-them-skywards-lukecalum).


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